“Stay down,” Bob gloated. “Unless you want some more.”
A sound more like a boiling teakettle than a voice leaked from Gavitt’s throat.
“Hhhhhhh!” the man rasped.
A citrine glow flashed from the hallway as the pooka’s eyes lit up again.
With a final, convulsive effort, the IA agent raised his handgun and squeezed the trigger. The bullet whistled past Bob’s face and buried itself in one of the lab’s exposed chemical tanks. Pink vapor whistled out under pressure.
McClatchy’s nose wrinkled in annoyance as the gas surrounded him. He brought his gun up, focusing on the downed IA detective. Off to the side, Shelly was back at the window of the clean room, shouting as loud as she could.
“No, Bob! For Christ’s sake, you’ll kill us all!”
I couldn’t make out the lettering on the tank that Gavitt had holed. All I could see was the scarlet diamond-shaped warning that the contents were HIGHLY FLAMMABLE. I grabbed the nearest lab chair, pulling it over as best I could to cover me.
McClatchy squeezed his trigger once more.
An eardrum-rattling BOOM! ripped through the air. The explosion ripped the light plastic chair out of my hand, tumbling me head over teakettle until I smacked into the far wall.
The world turned into a sound-deadened mass of shimmering gray forms. My right arm hurt. Looking down, I saw three or four large shards of something – Glass? Plastic? – sticking out of it.
Someone finally turned the sound and picture back on in my head. I heard shouts from outside, the ring of the fire alarm. Flickers of orange light from flames dancing along the countertops drew my eye as the samples I’d brought in were consumed.
I got up, all while trying not to bend my arm. Little pinpricks of pain jolted me as I moved towards the two forms lying on the floor. The sprinklers finally kicked in with the hiss of an angry wyvern queen. Over the cacophony of noise, I made out Shelly’s voice.
“Dayna!” she called, as she pressed her face against the last part of the window that hadn’t been cracked or shattered. “Thank the Lord you’re all right! Just hold on, help’s coming!”
I nodded stupidly, my head still woozy, even as a flood from the sprinklers doused me.
Nathan Gavitt lay dead. McClatchy’s last shot had hit home right between his eyes. As for Bob himself, he sprawled on his back, rocking back and forth as if trying to get up. But the man couldn’t quite right himself.
The side of his head had been fried, and one of his eyes looked like a pulpy, smashed marble. Blood ran in rivulets from his many wounds. Shrapnel from the exploding tank had peppered his body like porcupine quills from shoulder to thigh.
“Got you…” McClatchy spat. “Got your…agent. You sent him to get me. You failed! You tried to get me…and you failed!”
Bob tried to move his hand, but it only twitched. His pistol was gone. So were two of his fingers.
I looked back up at the open door. Destry still stood there, his eyes blankly yellow and inscrutable.
“Get out of here,” I gritted. “The next time we meet, I swear I’ll kill you.”
The pooka lowered his head with a regretful nicker. Then, with a little whoosh, he vanished.
Not ten seconds later, Lieutenant Ollivar’s beefy frame stepped through the door. Three officers with guns drawn and a pair of EMTs followed on his heels. He motioned to the officers to lower their weapons as they surveyed the scene. The EMTs moved first to check Gavitt, and then to McClatchy.
The Police Chief shrugged the men off as he jabbed a finger at me. His voice came out in a strangled shout.
“I got him! I got him!” he repeated. “You thought you had it all figured out, didn’t you, Chrissie! I got him, and I’ll get you next! The Monseigneur wouldn’t work with the likes of you! No, he’s marked me for greatness, which means you must be ruined! I’ll crush you, I’ll end you!”
McClatchy’s voice suddenly muffled as one of the EMTs put an oxygen mask over his face. More LAPD officers had gathered around outside as their Chief declared his murderous vendetta. They stared in incomprehension as the paramedics did their best to work on the shattered wreck of a man.
Things started fuzzing out again as I watched. One of the officers pushed through the crowd and got to me. His face swam into focus, and I recognized him. Esteban took hold of me as gently as he could, trying not to move my arm. His words came out in a rush, and I couldn’t make out much besides ‘hang in there, you’re going to be okay’.
Ollivar began shouting orders, clearing the crowd that had gathered outside the lab. Two more paramedics arrived, carrying stretchers. One of the stretchers came my way.
“Shelly,” I said, remembering my friend. “Esteban, tell someone to help get Shelly out of there. She needs to use the lady’s room…”
He said something in reply, but I couldn’t hear it over the sudden rush of wind in my ears. Someone helped me lie down on a stretcher. I remembered being lifted up. Being wheeled through the halls of the OME. The flashing red bar of an ambulance’s lights.
Around that time, my consciousness figured that was enough for one day.
It checked out and left me to wake up a couple of hours later.
Chapter Forty-One
I’d really gotten tired of being in or visiting hospitals.
To start off, I’d dealt with breaking Shelly out of First Samaritan’s mental ward. Next, I had to keep visiting King Fitzwilliam in their medical wing. Then I had to perform an exorcism at the next place I visited. Oh, and most recently, I’d picked up a baker’s dozen of stitches the last time I’d been admitted to one.
Maybe I could start earning bonus points for each visit. Just to make it interesting.
This time, I’d gotten luckier than I dared hope. Once the ER team cut away my sleeve, it turned out that only two shards of plastic had punctured my right arm between the wrist and elbow. Those punctures hurt like no one’s business, but they hadn’t nicked an artery, nor had they severed a tendon. That got my wounds bumped from ‘potentially life threatening’ to ‘superficial’ in one fell swoop.
A jab of local anesthetic took care of things while they probed, cleaned, stitched and bandaged the two wounds. I received a stern warning to not get the bandages wet, or to perform any cartwheels for a fortnight. Then I was taken to a hospital room, where my anesthetically soothed brain checked out for a few more hours.
When I finally woke, a pair of LAPD’s finest was waiting to get my statement about what had happened. They nodded knowingly as I recapped the highlights of my stormy encounters with Robert McClatchy. The nods kept coming after I mentioned the stress he’d been under during the Internal Affairs investigation. For better or worse, whatever had happened in the Chem Lab confirmed someone’s deeply held suspicions about McClatchy’s performance as of late.
Having got what they’d come for, the two wished me well before they left. There were press conferences to be held for hungry news media. Now they had a tragic, but simple-to-understand narrative to handle that.
Esteban, bless his soul, managed to bypass all the red tape and came up to see me. He swept through the door and grabbed me, holding me as tightly as he dared. Our kisses were quick, furtive. As if we were worried about showing affection inside a hospital.
“Dayna, when I saw you down in the Chem Lab,” he finally said, “I thought I’d lost you.”
I felt as brittle as glass inside, and still a little lightheaded from the anesthesia, but I tried to play it off. Moreover, I didn’t want to talk about Destry’s betrayal. Not just yet.
“You thought you’d lose me to Bob McClatchy?” I half-joked. “It’s going to take a lot more than that.”
He had no reply to that besides another kiss.
Once I’d convinced Alanzo that I was well enough to walk under my own power, he helped get me out of the hospital. His rapid-fire Spanish helped convince the nurse (who was a close friend of his third cousin’s next-door neighbor), to allow me to check out. I s
igned a packet of release forms and the hospital turned me loose with a fist-sized bottle of antibiotics and another of painkillers.
A gaggle of news reporters and camera crews continued to loiter outside the main entrance, so I ended up leaving the hospital like a movie star trying to avoid the paparazzi. Out the back. Wearing sunglasses. And, technically, under police protection.
The air in Southern California holds no awards for its freshness, but I still inhaled big lungfuls of it as soon as we got out of the building. Evening had fallen, but downtown Los Angeles had banished any sense of time with its ever-present street lamps and neon signage.
Once Esteban got his Barracuda rolling, he filled me in on what had taken place during my trip to the ER. For starters, Shelly hadn’t been injured by the gunfire or the explosion. After a cursory checkup by the onsite medical personnel, the LAPD spent the better part of an hour grilling her about McClatchy’s actions. For their trouble they got an earful about the Police Chief’s increasingly disturbing behavior before they let her leave.
As for McClatchy himself? He’d been brought to the hospital right behind me, though he’d been sent directly to surgery. Once his condition stabilized, they’d placed him in a ‘secured’ hospital room.
For some reason, Bob hadn’t responded well to sedation. He’d kept shouting about his plans for greatness and vengeance until they put him in restraints. Eventually, the powers-that-be were going to have to determine the status of his sanity. Because he’d be going on trial for the murder of IA Detective Nathan Gavitt.
In other words, he was as finished at the LAPD as you could get.
“The city council’s burning the midnight oil to pick an interim replacement,” Esteban informed me, as we finally took the onramp to the freeway. “Ollivar’s been collecting testimony from several officers about McClatchy’s obsession with you as well, by the way. It sounds like a lot of Bob’s supporters are reevaluating what’s been said about Dayna Chrissie. In an odd way, what happened down in the Chem Lab actually helped you.”
I worked my jaw as I let that sink in. It was hard for me to think of it that way. Maybe in time I’d change my opinion, but right now things were too raw, too fresh.
“If Ollivar’s collecting testimony, what about yours?” I asked. “Won’t he want to get your statement?”
Esteban shrugged. “You needed me more.”
I reached out with my good hand and squeezed his meaty bicep as he drove. That was something else I wasn’t going to argue with. I had needed him. But now, I needed something else. And it wasn’t going to wait.
“Alanzo, I want you to add your words to all this,” I said. “I want you to tell Ollivar, and everyone at the LAPD, exactly what you’ve seen happen between me and McClatchy.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Do you want me to head into HQ right now?”
“Actually, I’d like you to drop me off at Shelly’s first. I’ve had enough of the LAPD for one night, and I could use a good, solid meal. Something that congeals.”
“No problema.”
Esteban changed lanes to make the next offramp. In a few minutes, the low-rise apartment buildings of downtown gave way to strip mall suburbia and clusters of single family homes. A few wisps of cloud gave the near-black sky a milky look as the ‘Cuda growled to a stop in front of Shelly’s house.
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” he asked, concerned.
“As sure as anything,” I said, and that was as much as I could hedge the truth with Alanzo. I leaned over, gave him a kiss, and then awkwardly got out of his car. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning, is that okay?”
“You can call any time,” he assured me. “Including tonight, if you need me.”
I nodded, then I stood at the curb and waved as his car pulled away into traffic. I walked up to the front porch and stood under the peppermint-striped cloth awnings. The lights were on inside, which meant that Shelly was back home and still awake.
But I didn’t go in. As much as I wanted to eat a solid meal and collapse on a warm bed, there were things that needed to be done. Urgent things.
I shook my head once more to clear the last cobwebs out of my brain. My arm let out a mindful twinge as I did so. I stepped into the shadows cast by the awning and fished out the transport-spelled medallion Galen had given me so many months ago.
It was time to return to Andeluvia. My friends were still in the Everwinter Glade, and that meant they were still in danger. Master Wayfarer had to be growing more nervous by the hour. And if Destry decided to return to the Glade and tip him off, my friends could be in deep trouble.
But as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t return there quite yet. Not directly.
There was one more place I needed to visit first.
I fixed the image in my mind as the world vanished in a white flash.
Chapter Forty-Two
The flash of transport resolved itself into the familiar table, chalkboard, hearth, and tattered quilt of carpets of my quarters in the Dame’s Tower. Instead of the night-banishing brightness of downtown Los Angeles, my office glowed with the subdued light of candles. The window shutters had been thrown wide open to admit the nighttime breeze. A lonely knight sat at the table, poring over a sheaf of parchment.
“Dame Chrissie!” Sir Quinton said in surprise. He got up awkwardly and did his best to bow. “How lucky it is that you have arrived! I’ve been busy going over the documents for tonight’s session of the Royal Court.”
“It’s good to be back,” I said. Then I did a doubletake as his words sank in. “Wait, the Royal Court is meeting this evening? That’s unusual. What’s going on?”
“More mischief-making from your foes, I’m afraid. Two of Lord Alvey’s sons, Sir Urson and Sir Kagin, have a dispute involving a debt owed by the former to the latter.”
“They do?” I frowned. “But how does this affect me?”
“Rumor has it that Sir Kagin shall demand more time to pay back what he owes. Not because he lacks the crowns. Instead, he shall argue that since Dame Chrissie got more time out of King Fitzwilliam, he should receive the same treatment. And if Sir Kagin can get more time, every other knight or lord holding one type of debt or another will demand the exact same thing.”
I groaned. If everyone got into the ‘I just can’t pay my debts yet’ game, that would be just the thing to throw the kingdom into chaos. And right when I’d gotten notice from Destry that ‘the end’ was right around the corner.
“Great, just great,” I grumbled. “I swear, I can’t turn my back on this kingdom for two days before it ties itself into a knot. When, exactly, is the court scheduled to meet?”
“Within the hour. I had decided to take some food in the meantime.”
Quinton nodded towards the table. He’d brought up a cup of ale and one of Andeluvia’s specialties – a honey-drizzled oatcake the size and shape of an automobile hubcap.
Instantly, my eyes lit up. My stomach fairly yanked on my brain stem, reminding me of how little I’d had to eat today. Shelly’s gift of leftover bacon and eggs on a slice of bread was a distant memory by now.
“I can see that,” I said. “As the Head of your Knightly Order, I’m going to have to requisition that pastry. And your service.”
“I am at the ready when the Order of the Ermine calls,” he declared, as I snatched up the cake and proceeded to devour it. The young knight did a doubletake of his own as he noticed the bandage wrap mummifying my right arm all the way up to my elbow. “Dame Chrissie, you’ve been wounded!”
“Yeah, that,” I mumbled between bites. “Don’t worry about it for right now.”
“Were you in combat?”
“You could say that.”
“If your wound has been bandaged in that manner, it must be serious!”
I shook my head. “This is just a scratch. You should see what happened to the other guy.”
Quinton tugged at the ends of his blond mustache as he considered my words. Judging by his expression, I’d jus
t jumped a couple ranks higher in his esteem. As soon as I’d finished the last of the cake, he slid his ale cup over. I choked down a couple swallows of the cup’s thick contents and felt the soothing balm of alcohol radiate out from my stomach. I walked over to one of my cabinets, fished out a sheet of parchment, and tucked it away.
“We’ll handle the Royal Court in due time. Right now, we’ve got bigger game to hunt.” I eyed Quinton’s getup. He wasn’t in armor, but like practically every adult male in Andeluvia, he had his scabbard at his side. “Are you ready for combat?”
“Neither my weapon nor my sword hand have dulled in the last few weeks,” he replied eagerly. “And I can ride. As long as you do not wish me to win a foot race, I can beat all comers.”
“Good.” I gave him a look. “Make no mistake, this is going to be hazardous business, Sir Quinton. Our friends need a rescue of sorts from the Everwinter Glade. We’re dealing with the most powerful wizards in Andeluvia here. One wrong move, and we could both end up extremely dead.”
My words only firmed up the knight’s resolve. “Perhaps I can tip the odds further in our favor if I fetch my armor–”
“Not this time. Time is of the essence, in more ways than one.”
“Are you bringing your ‘fire arm’ to bear?”
I sighed and shook my head. “I don’t have it with me. It’s been one of those days.”
“Very well, then. Might I ask what good a single sword shall be against a glade full of wizards?”
I thought about it for a moment before answering.
“You know, I learn things all the time from my friends. Why shouldn’t I also learn from the knights in my order? As Sir Exton said a few days ago, ‘Sometimes, the best way to solve a problem is with the simplest methods’.”
“Hm. I assume that you have a plan, then?”
My mind spooled back to what I’d seen at the Everwinter Glade, from our initial entry all the way through the examination of Master Dekanos’ corpse. There was one small, casual observation I’d made in that time. I hoped that it was correct.
The Conspiracy of Unicorns Page 23