“True, yeah.” He nodded. “But then you and Volz would be left unprotected. Actually, let’s check on both of them, shall we? I need to get out of this goddamn chair, anyway. Sitting for more than an hour at a time is insufferable unless video games or beer are involved.”
He stood, stretched, and the three of them headed into the rear of the office suite, where Conrad kept an eye on Volz.
The well-groomed lycanthrope half-sat on the edge of the desk, a patient, slightly indulgent smile on his face as he watched the dwarf go about his activity of the day.
Volz had acquired a cluster of freshly sharpened pencils and threw them one by one, dart-like, at the ceiling. His tongue hung out of his mouth to funnel drool into his red facial hair. Six of the pencils had stuck and ten or twelve lay scattered on the floor.
Conrad looked up. “His aim is improving, actually. And I’m surprised at his persistence. He’s been at it for a few hours now, and all those that are sticking are only from the last hour since you guys got back. It’s all in the motion of the wrist, I’d say.”
His eyes glazed and vacant but oddly focused, the dwarf aimed another one. His hand flicked up and the projectile shot heavenward in an almost perfectly straight line. The point sank into the plaster of the ceiling but the pencil wobbled and fell with a gentle clack.
“Oh, dear,” Bobby muttered.
“Wow,” Remy said. “That’s great, Volz. Truly impressive wrist action, as Conrad would say. Are you doing okay there, buddy?”
The dwarf turned to look at him. “Whuh? Oh, yeah. This is fun. You wanna try? I bet I can do better than you. I’m better…” He picked up another pencil.
The investigator motioned for them to turn away and huddle.
“Well,” he whispered, “I had kind of hoped that he’d have recovered enough to hack into traffic cameras and do a facial recognition check to help us determine where Russel was last seen, but noooo. I don’t think that’ll work out. We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way and ring the man’s doorbell.”
“Okay,” Bobby added, “but we’re not too far from closing time, so that makes me think if you don’t need Volz or me, we could maybe go to that bar you mentioned—the one where preternaturals hang out? You told me about it briefly and said the bartender was really nice and always agreed with you on everything. Would that place be safe?”
He adjusted his cuffs. “That’s a good idea, actually. Por’s Bar, in Lower Manhattan. It’s a safe zone, a neutral territory. If Moswen’s henchmen tried to start shit there, they’d have a war on their hands. Yes, go there and take Volz with you. But…uh, don’t let him jump onto the pool table while other dwarves or werewolves are playing.”
Conrad wandered over. “Pardon me, but I overheard most of that. Does this mean you’ll need me, sir?”
“Correct,” Remy stated. “You’re the backup muscle. If Riley can’t handle this guy, you bite his ankle or whatever.”
“Ah,” the werewolf responded, “yes, of course. Something like that.”
They made a few additional preparations—such as having Riley sip a little coffee, with Remy and Conrad sharing the remainder—then waved goodbye and left.
By now, it was getting dark. Bobby assumed she could get away with closing the office earlier but opted to do a little research before she departed.
She set the sign out front to Closed and booted up one of the computers in the back so that she could keep Volz nearby while she worked.
Specifically, she looked up the fastest route to Por’s Bar. Once she found that, she quickly planned a different, circuitous route—one which would probably throw off anyone who tried to follow them and which avoided all the traffic cameras of which she was aware.
With the route fresh in her mind, she shut the PC down and stood. “Okay, Volz. Sorry, but it’s time to leave. We’ll go someplace fun.”
He looked up, a pencil poised for javelin duty. “But I’m already having fun,” he protested.
Chapter Ten
Bayside, Queens, New York
“You know,” Remy quipped, “this is a nice neighborhood. I don’t know how much colonels get paid but that’s, like, one of the higher ranks, isn’t it? Anyway, I should have known. The point being that I’m glad we have Taylor’s nice posh Tesla. A lower-class car would have seemed too conspicuous here.”
“That’s a good point,” Conrad agreed.
The three of them—human, werewolf, and fairy—sat parked at the curb, a couple of hundred yards down from the townhouse where James Russel apparently resided. Getting here had taken about thirty-five minutes, a little longer than Google Maps suggested, as usual, due to the whole rush hour situation.
Annoyingly, this also meant that other people returning home from their jobs constantly pulled up and walked around.
“Let’s wait,” the investigator continued, “until no one is around, shall we? Besides, we need a minute to decide exactly how we’ll handle this. We can’t be sure if we’ll have a friendly ten-minute chat or if this entire block will be ripped apart and burned down.”
Conrad flexed his hands and loosened his suit, the better to discard it if he needed to make a sudden shift. “We can start by having Riley place another soundproof magical shell around Russel’s townhouse,” he suggested. “In case things get physical and therefore noisy.”
“Good idea,” he agreed. “You and Bobby both are full of ideas today. And we need them.” He slumped and sighed, the sound of it long and ragged. “It’s one of those kinds of days.”
The nap and the sip of coffee seemed to have helped Riley slightly, but she was still more lethargic than usual. Remy, used to focusing on the details of her small face, could not help noticing the dark circles under her eyes.
“I can do that,” she informed them in reference to the anti-sound spell, “but it will use some of my energy and make it harder to…um, remove the enthrallment spell.”
“Well, shit,” he grumbled. “Okay, how about this. Don’t cast it right away but do cast it the instant it looks like things might get ugly.”
She and Conrad agreed. They also agreed to let him do most of the talking, which pleased him.
I’ve always had a way with people, he reminded himself and smirked as he stepped out of the car.
The fairy again kept out of sight in the rear. If Russel had truly been made a thrall, by definition, his eyes would have been opened to the preternatural. Remy walked in front and Conrad hung back a couple of feet behind his elbow.
The townhouse was quiet as they approached, and the post-rush hour human traffic had mostly dropped off. The investigator took a deep breath, raised his fist, and rapped against the door four times.
It opened after only about ten seconds. Standing beyond the threshold was a tall, thin, dour-faced man with prominent bags under his eyes as though he hadn’t slept more than four hours a night for the last two weeks.
“Yes?” he said. The word was crisp and to the point, about what was expected for a military officer. If he recognized them, he did not indicate as much yet.
Remy’s gut clenched. If the colonel had widened his eyes and reached for a weapon, at least they’d know what was going on. As it was, they were still in the murky realm of uncertainty.
“Hi,” he greeted him. “You’re James Russel, right? We’re from a debt collection agency and were told to have a chat with you. There seems to be some confusion as to whether a certain sum is owed by you or another individual with the same name.”
The man’s frown deepened. “I see. I don’t have any outstanding debts. You’d best move on to one of the other James Russels.”
Shit, he’s about to slam the door in our faces, he realized.
“Uh,” he said and inched forward and in an effort to stall the man, “are you sure about that? You are Colonel Russel? Only one of the guys on our list is a colonel. So…uh, that’s you, I think?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could see Conrad wince at such a crappy lie.
But, oddly, Russel didn’t slam the door. Instead, he froze, then seemed to jerk in place as though he’d had a nasty acid burp and tried to hold it in. His eyes remained wide open the whole time.
Before Remy could say anything else, the man beckoned. “Come in, please. We can get this all sorted out in only a couple minutes, I’m sure.”
“Oh,” he replied and blinked in surprise. “Good.”
They stepped in and Conrad closed the door behind them before the colonel could.
The investigator suddenly wished that he’d told Riley to ride on his back collar or under his coat. That way, she could have warned him if she smelled any dark magic in there. He’d simply have to hope that she’d at least warn Wonder Boy if need be.
Russel led them into his living room, which was tidy but strangely dark as though he hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on yet. He turned around to face them.
“Your name,” he stated, “is Remington Davis, isn’t it?”
For about a second, it seemed that time froze while Remy was forced to confront the inescapable fact that they really, really hadn’t planned this as well as they should have. In the next moment, chaos erupted.
Russel lunged with inhuman speed at the same moment as Conrad, who surged into him, both men suddenly snarling. An end table tipped and spilled a flowerpot onto the floor.
“Riley!” Remington cried. “The spell!”
The fairy had already levitated toward the ceiling and she waved her hands as soft, silver light encased the outer walls and ceiling of the townhouse.
He had already sidestepped toward the fight. Conrad had tackled Russel through the door to the kitchen, only for the colonel, grunting and raging, to hurl the younger man back out.
“Whoa!” Remy exclaimed and hopped back to avoid the lycanthrope plowing into him. Instead, the airborne man careened into a bookcase and knocked it over.
Before the investigator could consider his next move, Russel was on him.
“You’re dead,” the colonel declared, his voice hoarse. “And I won’t even need the team to finish the job.”
He started to grab at the man’s arms to throw him to the floor but Russel was too fast and strong. His hands slid around his throat and his left foot swung behind his legs, and as he toppled, his attacker’s right knee came down on his stomach.
“Fuck,” he croaked. “Riley—”
The colonel’s demeanor had changed completely. He bared his teeth and had a desperate, sweaty, crazed look that was horrifyingly familiar. Remy had seen it on Alex, and on all the other poor bastards under the direct, sorcerous control of Moswen Neith.
A bestial growl sounded somewhere beyond his head and a dark, hairy form bulldozed into the man to hurl him off Remington and into the couch. Conrad had come through, after all. He and the other man wrestled and clawed at each other’s faces while cushions and stuffing erupted everywhere.
Remy rolled aside and found his feet. He looked everywhere for the fairy.
She floated down again and trying to read Russel to gain enough of an idea of how Moswen’s magic worked in order to counteract it.
“Riley,” he panted, “there’s a brand on his chest—over the heart, remember? That’s how Moswen spurs them on. Deactivate it or whatever. Do something!”
“I’m trying,” she protested, and in the silver light that shone from her hands, he finally saw the strain on her face. She looked like a ninety-eight-pound human trying to bench-press a three-hundred-pound barbell.
Oh, hell, we’re in over our heads again. Unless Conrad can kick the guy’s ass.
Remy spun toward the battle between the magically-augmented human and the fully transformed werewolf. Both had braced their feet against the floor and strained against the other’s hold, raw strength against strength, but neither had the right leverage to hurl the other against wall or floor.
Something had to give and he decided it ought to be Russel. He ran at the man in a swooping circle and aimed a fist toward the left side of his jaw.
Three things happened at once. He threw his punch, their adversary moved his head to dodge it while he attempted a return blow, and Conrad saw his opening and headbutted the colonel in the chest.
The investigator tripped over his feet and fell back as Russel careened into the wall. He raised himself on his elbows and saw Conrad, poised for the kill, but holding back. They needed the colonel alive.
A flash of light immediately followed. First, a soft silver glow burst from the man’s chest, but it quickly turned to a blazing amber-golden color, and finally a weird pale yellow as the hues blended and struggled.
A fast, sharp glance upward and back confirmed that Riley had accomplished it. She’d hacked her way into Moswen’s brand and begun the process of deleting the fucking thing from Russel’s system.
The colonel was having a near-seizure. He clutched at his chest and his eyes rolled back in his head, most likely in terrible pain. Which at least meant he wasn’t attacking them for the moment.
“Ha!” Remy laughed. “You’re on a roll, Riley! Keep at it! Shut that shit down! Ha-ha—”
His triumph faded quickly, though, when the fairy uttered a thin, wavering scream. “I can’t do it!” she wailed. “I can maybe…only…block her from—aaaahhh!”
The light changed again. Now, it seemed that a diagonal gash traversed the middle of it to divide it into two halves, gold and silver before it winked out.
Behind him, something thudded to the floor.
He whirled to where Riley had plummeted and now lay crumpled on the bunched carpet, trembling but otherwise inert, her wings wilting over her.
“No!” Russel gasped and staggered forward a step. “It can’t—I can’t risk it. You sons of bitches have to die. You—"
Conrad’s paw lashed out. He struck the colonel across the face with his palm, and his head struck the wall again as he was flung back. He slumped, drooling, and fell still.
Remy groaned and turned over to wipe a hand down his face as his brain struggled to catch up with all that had happened. He crawled over to the fairy.
“Riley, are you okay? Jesus—”
She wasn’t dead and he thanked whatever powers might exist for that much. Neither was she entirely unconscious. The strain, especially in her already-tired condition, had simply been too much for her.
Something hot and red prickled all over his face, neck, and shoulders, and he realized it was shame. He’d pushed the poor creature so hard that she’d practically killed herself. He made a swallowing motion, bit ruefully on his lip, and picked her up gently, then turned.
Conrad shifted to his human form and the wolf hair vanished mysteriously from his body as he gathered his discarded clothes.
Remy turned his head toward the lycanthrope long enough to deliver hasty instructions. “Get him into a bed and tie him up or something.” He rushed into the kitchen with the fairy in hand.
Frantically, he rifled through Russel’s cupboards, found a mug, tea bags, and a jar of sugar. He made quickie microwave-tea, extra sweet, and gathered a little of it in the smallest spoon he could find.
“Riley,” he said softly, “can you hear me? Drink this. It will help you feel better.” He moved the spoon toward her face, annoyed by the slight trembling of his hand. The spoon also seemed awkwardly large. It was about the same size as the fairy’s entire head.
She twitched and rolled over on the counter. “Unnghhh…okay…” She grasped the spoon with both hands, sipped its contents, and drained most of it.
He allowed himself to breathe. If the fairy was lucid enough to do that, she had to be mostly okay. Probably.
Peace and order soon returned, at least to the extent that was possible when they’d broken into someone’s residence, assaulted him, and commandeered his house.
Conrad had moved the colonel into his bed and secured him to it with duct tape and electrical cable. Remy found a washcloth, restored the toppled end table to an upright position, and let Riley lie on t
he cloth while she recovered. He also made a couple more mugs of tea for himself and the werewolf.
“Well,” he remarked, “that was an adventure.” He sipped the hot beverage.
Conrad grimaced. “We’re very lucky, sir. I think Riley managed to…I don’t know, interfere with Moswen’s brand, somehow. Otherwise, she would have simply used it to burn his heart out by now, and he’s definitely still alive.”
“Good,” he stated. “Thank you for kicking his ass, by the way. Riley, are you doing any better? I’m sorry this happened, and I mean that.”
The fairy sighed and raised herself to a seated position on the washcloth. Her wings were still limp but at least she moved them again. “I think,” she said. “And…I’m sorry I couldn’t do it. I let you down—”
“Not quite,” he corrected. “You might not have removed the brand but it sounds like you at least broke Moswen’s link to it.”
She shook her head. “It won’t last. She’ll be able to get through it in another day or two. If I was…at my best, I think I could have made it permanent. This”—she covered her face with her hands—“is all my own fault.”
Her voice broke at the end, and he was afraid she’d start crying.
“No,” he reassured her, “it’s my fault. Like I said, I—”
“No, you’re wrong,” she protested and her voice rose to an almost squeaky pitch. “You’re only trying to do your job. I’m the one who keeps going to the mall and wasting all my time and energy with those men and being an idiot. You even told me not to and said you’d help me, and I kept doing it anyway.” She shuddered and might have been weeping.
Remy saw that Conrad was about to say something, so he held a hand up, palm outward. Then, he turned to the fairy.
“Well,” he began, “Moswen is one hell of an old, powerful vampire, so it’s not like you failed against a run-of-the-mill schmuck who’s only been undead for, like, twenty years. I suppose you’re right, though, but the fact that you’ve admitted there’s a problem is a good sign. Most of those twelve-step programs put that as Step Number One, if I recall.”
Under Pressure (Moonlight Detective Agency Book 4) Page 10