Liquid wasn’t all that trailed off the man. He was drowning in pain, shaking with rage and fear. Acute loneliness and resentment darkened the ghosts pouring out of his soul as he sobbed, “Let me go. Why can’t you just let me go?”
Ire trumped the sentiment as Oliver bellowed, “You’re my son.”
“Those are just words. You don’t even know what they mean.”
“Stop this foolishness. And clean up this mess. I don’t have time for one of your famous tantrums, Arno. I asked you here to talk.”
“You asked me?” With a cry, Arno kicked the open gas can at his father. It bounced over the floor, leaving a trail across the wood. “You sent your fucking monsters after me!”
“I had no choice. You’re throwing away your future. Your life. The one I paid for. My business—our business—has given you everything. You’ve spread your wings long enough. It’s time to come home.” Oliver took a step.
“Stay away!” Scrambling back, Arno bumped into the curtained picture window behind him. “I told you a thousand times. I want no part of this. I want no part of you! I begged you to leave me alone. Did you think having me beaten and dragged here would change my mind?”
“Something has to. You will replace me, Arno. That’s how this works. There is no other path for you. It’s time you accept that. It’s time you learn—”
“I loved this room,” Arno broke in.
His father took a breath. “It was your mother’s favorite, as well.”
“Did she lose herself in these books like I did, trying to escape her life? To escape you? I hope she was able to pretend you didn’t slaughter things that belong in fairytales and sell them to the highest bidder. Because I never could.”
Sell them? I wondered. This was getting interesting. I strayed closer.
“You ruined me,” Arno went on. “You were the monster under my bed. You showed me things no child should ever see. Burned them into my mind,” he shouted, tapping on the side of his head. “You brag about being the business. That without a Gant at the helm, it would all dry up and blow away. I pray to god, you’re right.” Arno pulled a lighter from his pocket.
“Stop!” Oliver rushed closer. “What are you doing?”
“I tried to leave. So many times, I tried to leave you and your fucking legacy behind. But you couldn’t let go. You never stopped trying to fix me, to make me into the son you wanted. You never stopped trying to bring me back.” Arno’s thumb slid down the sparkwheel, igniting the flame. “Not this time.” He dropped the lighter at his feet. Fire met the puddle around his shoes—and dashed up Arno’s body. Spreading from the epicenter of his burning form, a line of hungry flame shot out. It followed the trickle of liquid into the center of the room, laid out by the overturned gas can.
Oliver stared in horror at the growing blaze. His hesitation brief, he grabbed the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace and rushed Arno at full speed. Searing his own skin as the flames adhered, Oliver enfolded his son’s burning body in the rug, holding him tight as they crashed through the window to the ground below.
Nine
A crust of pizza in one hand, and the steering wheel in the other, I pulled in between the yellow lines and turned off the jeep. Morning was nearly gone. My trip to the Gant home had taken longer than expected. Traffic was a bitch on the way back, but I’d spent most of my time trying to process the unbearable pain Arno saw as freedom.
I’d been present at countless burnings. I’d caused even more. This one, though, had staying power. The sounds and smells, Arno’s rage and sorrow, had followed me back to the station. Such vivid, detailed reads often required contact with the blood of a deceased. It wasn’t a must, but it did up the odds that Arno was dead (or close to it) when his father pushed him out the window.
Based on their argument, it was clear, Oliver had been a player in Sentinel’s criminal underworld. But was he man or monster? Was he still in business? Or had Arno succeeded in killing them both, and the Gant’s had no real connection to our case?
I was contemplating the many possibilities when a navy sedan took the spot next to mine. The driver turned off the engine. As he answered his phone, he glanced in my direction. Noticing first the jeep, then me, Oren offered a startled wave. He held up a finger, asking me to wait while he finished his call. I wasn’t going anywhere. Oren was difficult to get in touch with on a good day. For the last two, he’d been unreachable. Running into him here was a stroke of luck I wasn’t wasting.
Though, the station parking garage wouldn’t have been my first choice for a meet. It was well lit, with the noon-time sun streaming through the half walls. Cars were driving by, circling up and down to other levels, permitting little privacy. Still, it was no secret I was acquainted with the city’s respected fire marshal. Few would look twice at our conversation.
Oren ended his call. I exited the jeep and rounded the back to the other side. I waited as Oren tied himself in the rearview mirror, giving his gray dollop of hair a few pats. Slipping his phone and keys in his jacket pocket as he got out, Oren straightened his tie. Black with little plum-colored triangles, the fabric complemented the hint of lavender pinstripe in his suit. Oren wasn’t warm and fuzzy about humans, but he did enjoy dressing like them.
“Dahlia,” he smiled; a flash of white teeth against dark skin. “Sorry, but you’ll need to talk fast. Gattlin is expecting me for lunch in…” Checking his watch, Oren grimaced, “three minutes ago.”
“I don’t know how your secretary gets anything done. She must spend hours every day on nothing but your social calendar.”
“My calendar is a tool as equally important and well-sharpened as the knife on your belt. If not for my connections, managing the bizarre happenings in this city would be significantly more difficult.”
“I’m not sure lunch dates are going to cut it much longer. If you haven’t noticed, the ‘happenings’ have been happening a lot more often.”
“I’ve noticed. It took everything I had to keep a lid on our Chrysalis debacle, and it’s still rearing its ugly, mutating head now and then. Thankfully, the queen leant me enough help to ensure our bases were covered, and we’re no worse for wear.”
“Except for a couple hundred human casualties, millions of dollars in damage to the city, and the horrific images burned into the brains of every eyewitness. Did you know the family members of the victims have started a support group?”
“I’m aware. I’ve already replaced their group leader with a Guild operative trained in human psychology. One way or another, she will ‘persuade’ them to move on.”
“Great.” Now we’re psychologically damaging the victims of our own crimes. “Where have you been? Did you get my messages?”
“I did. I was going to call you after lunch. I was,” he glanced around, “off-world, meeting with the queen.” Oren checked his watch again. “I assume you have something to report?”
“You could say that. Someone decorated the riverbank with body parts, most of which weren’t human. It was like a damn Halloween display down there. More clogged a sewer drain in the old industrial district, where it looks like our killers were operating an underground crematorium. I blew it up.”
Oren stared at me, digesting the information. “I was gone three days.”
“All it took was one.”
Oren’s shock morphed into a worried shake of his head. “Any leads on what’s responsible?”
“Nothing concrete. This isn’t a single creature out for a quick bite, either. This is multiple predators, a group or family, maybe. They’re organized, meticulous, and selective.”
“Picky eaters. Good. That narrows down the list of suspects.”
My reply was an offended frown.
“What? Not everyone eats everyone.”
“That’s not a silver lining, Oren. These killings have been going on a long while. Right under—” Your nose, I thought. I returned to the city a handful of months ago. Oren had been here for years. Even operating covertly, there ha
d to be a noticeable number of disappearances. How had he missed this? “Under the factory,” I finished, deciding to let it go. “If this is a hunt, it’s unlike any I’ve seen before. It’s more like they’re treating Sentinel City as their own private grocery store—complete with a catch of the day.”
“Sounds like a colony of something has moved in. In which case, they’d need a large place to hide and, depending on their dietary needs, cold storage. Was there any evidence of long-term habitation at the factory?”
“I didn’t have time to search. But I might have a few other places to look,” I said, thinking of Ronnie’s stack of folders. Even if the Gants weren’t connected to our case, until Oliver and his son were declared legally dead, their properties were in limbo. And empty, abandoned structures were a lure to all manner of squatters. “I admit, this one stumps me. Nothing seems to add up.”
“Some sleep might help, based on those ghastly circles under your eyes. Have the pills stopped working? Are you taking them as prescribed?”
“Yes. They work,” I said, tolerating his fatherly lecture, “but mainly with the headaches. Using my abilities doesn’t bring them on near as often anymore.”
“And the dreams?”
“I still get them. But they’re different now.” They’re no longer endless reruns of the terrible things I’ve seen and done, I thought. Now, they’re new terrible things. “But it’s better,” I said, seeing no reason to worry him. “I can manage.”
“Good.” Oren gave my hand a quick, affectionate squeeze.
“Once this case is done, I’d like to stop by and see Henry. When you have time. It’s been a while.”
The warmth drained from Oren’s eyes. “We’ve been through this, Dahl. He isn’t Henry anymore. He doesn’t remember you or his life before he was exposed to Chrysalis.”
“I do. I remember he was kind and funny and talented. Henry was human. And he was my friend. He doesn’t deserve to be chained in your lab for the rest of his life.”
“Studying his condition is our only hope of a cure. Or have you forgotten how many others have suffered the same fate? It wasn’t a month past when another affected human was found living on the streets. Her mutations were minor, but there might still be more victims out there. If I keep working, I might find a way to help them. I promise,” Oren grabbed my hand again, with more conviction this time. “I’m taking good care of him. But your visits only agitate the poor creature. And I know you don’t want to make things worse for him.”
“Of course not.”
“Then leave Henry’s care to me and focus on the case. And work it quietly. I don’t want to hear the word ‘monsters’ on the news ever again.” Leaning in to plant a kiss on my cheek, Oren hurried toward the elevator.
I stopped him with one word. “Marnie?” He pivoted back. “Did you hear anything from your contacts while you were home? We’ve exhausted every lead you gave us, Oren. We need some new intel.”
“I’m afraid I have none. My ‘acquaintances’ on Drimera claim there’s been not a single whisper related to the dancers or their captivity in weeks. Which likely means they’ve been claimed by an elder.”
“But you don’t know.”
“It had to happen eventually, Dahl. They were taken to Drimera as breeders. If Bastian hadn’t died, and thrown the tribe into chaos, their wombs would be full by now. This was a reprieve you knew couldn’t last. I think it’s time your friend accepts the girl’s fate and abandons the search.”
I closed the distance between us. “It’s his sister, Oren. His sister who was kidnapped by a dragon. After countless bad leads, dead ends, and failed searches, Evans is more determined than ever to get her back, not less.”
“I understand. But if you insist on pursuing this path, then you must do it alone. He’s…” Oren paused as two uniformed men exited the elevator. One recognized me and waved. I smiled back. “A liability,” Oren said, as the men moved out of hearing. “Your forays under the queen’s nose on his behalf are bad enough. Allowing a human to step foot onto our soil, even once, is a foolish risk. One you know better than to take.”
I thought of the operative who got away last night. “Does Naalish know?”
“I don’t believe so. But this is my ass on the line, too, Dahl. If she discovers I provided you, not only with information, but access to an exit…”
And there it was: the root of his concern.
“Don’t worry, Oren. You’re safe. I’m using another exit to travel, not the one by the drawbridge.”
“Why not? I gave you keys to the gate. I arranged for the Drimeran side to be unguarded.” Frustration tightened his voice. “Multiple times.”
“I know your position is important to you. I didn’t want to risk it. I’d be more concerned about your informants,” I said, shifting his focus. Oren was unaware of my exit leading to the Dead City. If he found out, I’d lose the gym. “Are you sure they won’t turn you in?”
“I’m confident in their loyalty. As I am your ability to do the right thing.”
“And which right thing would that be?”
“If you ever do find the girl, and you’re unable to guarantee her silence, you must leave her behind. No one creature is more important than the secret of the linked worlds. But you don’t need me to remind you how tenuous it all is.” His point driven in with accuracy, Oren checked his watch for a third time. “I have to go. I’ll speak with Chen, and we’ll touch base later.” Pressing the elevator button, he glanced back. “Are you coming?”
“Go ahead. I need to lock up.”
I went back to the jeep. As I opened the driver’s side door, I heard the chime of the arriving elevator behind me. Oren exchanged pleasantries with someone, but I was too busy fishing my vibrating cell phone out my bag to care who. It stopped ringing before I could lay hands on it. I checked the screen as I backed out of the jeep. There were two messages and one missed call, all from Creed, all in the last minute.
Scrolling through, I shook my head. “Impatient much?”
“Very.”
I spun around. He was two feet away; phone in hand; wry grin on his face.
“Impressive,” I said. “Not many people can sneak up on me…” I shoved the phone into my back pocket with a smirk, “and live.”
“Guess it’s a good thing you’re not armed.”
I gave the ends of my jacket a nonchalant tug, making sure the horizontal knife sheath attached to my belt stayed hidden. “Sorry I wasn’t back sooner. Traffic sucked, and I was starving.” He made a face, and I winced. “Should I have gotten you a slice?”
“No thanks. After yesterday, I might not eat for a week.”
“Pizza goes with everything.” A chill settled on my shoulders, as I recalled when I last spoke those words: to Dr. Winters a few days before she died. Before I watched her die. If I’d acted sooner, if I’d somehow swayed her thinking… Sam might still be alive.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“Nothing. Other than a wasted morning. Chen has nothing helpful yet.”
“Chen? Officer Lane said you were checking on a potential lead?”
Why am I surprised? I thought. Ronnie saw me make a mental note of the address. Guess she didn’t buy my excuse for missing the meeting. “Arson was suspected in the fire that took out the Gant estate. I thought I’d have a look. But it was just a burned-out soggy mess.”
“Well, I’ve got something. Traffic cams from Friday night show a delivery van entering the access road to the river. Time stamp is around midnight, which is four hours after the roads flooded and the Governor issued a State of Emergency.”
“Do we know where it was coming from?”
“Ronnie’s widening the search, trying to trace it back to a point of origin. Right now, we have cameras in a three-block radius around the access road, showing the same van, traveling the same roads, multiple times in the last six weeks. And the tires are a good match for our tread.”
“What about the driver?”
The building excitement in his voice carried over into mine. “I remember that place.” It’s perfect, I thought. Secluded and huge with plenty of storage. And if the power was on, refrigeration units.
“Ready for the best part? You’ll like it.” Creed took a breath before announcing, “The logo on the van reads Arno Meatpacking.”
My grin was wide. “You’re right. I do like it.”
Ten
“Are you trying to knock the teeth out of my head?”
Slowing to a crawl, I glanced at Creed, clinging to the handle above the door as the jeep bumped through another bone-rattling pothole. “You could have driven.”
“Bring my car on this obstacle course? No thanks.”
I steered around the chunks of broken concrete strewn across the eroded lot. Most of the paint had faded from the parking spots. Hardy weeds, undeterred by the falling autumn temperatures, filled the cracks.
Hitting the wipers to clear another round of muddy water from the windshield, I pulled up in front of the main building. It was a dark, depressing, crumbling corpse of a structure with multiple wings, high, vacant windows and rotting doors. Grime and moss climbed the once-white, brick foundation. Rust streaked the warped walls of the barn-like structure, where the animals had spent their final moments. Panels were missing from the roof and the covered shaft leading into the killing room floor.
Smoke & Mirrors Page 11