by R. L. Naquin
He shrugged. “They don’t really know. Besides, look at this room. Does it look like we have time to listen in on intimate conversations?”
“I guess not.” It all seemed familiar in a way I didn’t want to think about. I read newspapers. The Hidden world wasn’t so different from the human one after all.
“You did a good job getting that under-the-bed monster off the street. We saw a video on a blogger’s post. Quick thinking.”
“Not very effective if a blogger posted it.”
“It’s been taken down. We sent him threatening emails that said the performer didn’t give permission to share the video and that we would sue him.”
“And that worked?” I gave him a cynical look.
“People are very sensitive these days about getting sued for using images they don’t own, yet they really don’t know what they can and cannot do. If he’d stood his ground, we’d have hacked in and corrupted the files instead.”
“You can do that?”
“We’re the Division of Truth Diversion. We can do whatever it takes.” He paused a moment and brushed his hair from his eyes. “I just wish we could have helped you with the auction.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Bernice had all these resources available, and she hadn’t mentioned them even once. “Could you have helped?”
“We tried. The Hidden were always kidnapped away from cities, which meant away from cameras. I had a whole department scouring Sausalito for you, trying to find the truck the Collector’s men used. Somehow, they evaded us, no matter how hard we tried. I’m sorry.”
I smiled. “Thank you for trying. It means a lot that you had my back, even if I didn’t know it at the time. She got the drop on all of us, Randall. Don’t feel bad.”
We stopped at the desk of a goblin girl named Annabelle. Her hair fell down her back in a single braid, and she smiled at me with wide eyes before shaking my hand.
“I’m such a big fan,” she said. She shoved a notebook and pen at me. “Would you mind giving me your autograph?”
I glanced at Randall in a panic, but he was no help. He grinned and shrugged, so I wrote her a little something and signed my name.
What a weird thing to have to do.
“You know,” Randall said as we walked into his office. “Annabelle is second or third cousins with that woman you saved.”
“Rene?”
“Yes. Rene. I don’t think they’re close, but they’re family. That makes it all the more personal that she got to meet you.”
We sat in his office and drank a cup of coffee together. I was torn between being freaked out at the level of surveillance going on in the Hidden world, and feeling extreme gratitude that an entire call center was watching out for me.
I placed my empty cup on Randall’s desk. “How much surveillance goes on within the compound? Do you have cameras inside the prison?”
He shook his head. “There used to be, but with all the golems around, there’s no point. Nobody comes or goes without their knowledge.”
“Nobody but the murdering psychopath they were keeping prisoner.”
“Were?” He leaned forward in his chair. “Did she die? Please say she died.”
This was seriously bad news that the eyes and ears of the Board were blind and deaf within their own compound. Also, I found it suspicious that internal security had been reduced to golems only.
“She didn’t die. She escaped.”
Randall stared at me. “How is that even possible?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. I have her file here. If there’s anything in it to help me, I’ll find it.”
His dark lips paled. “She’s the one who killed the Board members then, isn’t she?”
“Yes. And she’s the one who took the Aegises from the Collector.”
Randall pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and closed his eyes. “Why wouldn’t Mrs. Abernathy tell us about this as soon as she knew?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” One I suspected no one but Kathleen Valentine could answer.
“The Covenant can’t hold up much longer like this.”
I put my palms on the edge of his desk and looked him square in the eyes. “Randall, what happens if the Covenant is broken? Nobody will tell me, other than overdramatized doom-and-gloom vagaries.”
He swallowed hard and folded his hands in his lap. “Nobody really knows. But before the Covenant, it was chaos. All sorts of dangers roamed the earth. Humans and Hidden alike were eaten or infected with terrible conditions like necrolosis, lycanthropy or sanguinitis.”
“I don’t want to know what those are, do I?”
“Probably not.”
“We’re talking about the zombie apocalypse, aren’t we?”
“Among other things.”
My throat was dry. I gave my empty coffee cup a sad look. “I have to fix this.”
Randall’s phone rang, and he picked it up. “Yes? Oh. What have you got?” He jotted something down on a pad and glanced up at me while he talked.
I gestured out the door to ask if I should leave, and he shook his head, holding up his hand for me to wait. “And what’s the address? Uh huh. All right. Great job. Keep me posted.” He hung up and checked something on his own monitor. “Well, dragon balls.”
“Is it something really bad?” I asked.
“It’s not great. Not only do I have a rogue Bigfoot, I’ve got a timeshare scam taking advantage of it.”
“Is there an O.G.R.E. squad in the area?”
“Yes, but they’re on strike until we get them new contracts and back pay.”
I nodded. “We ran into that same situation in Idaho. Gris sorted it out.”
“I don’t have any teams in the area right now.” He tapped away at the keyboard. “I could reroute the banshee sisters, but I really needed them in Seattle. The mothman/djinn team you worked with are knee deep on an Indian reservation in Mississippi at the moment, so I can’t call them.” He ran a hand through his hair, causing chunks of it to stand up in spikes.
I touched the back of his hand to get his attention. “Randall, where is it? I can do research on Kathleen in the car on the way.”
His shoulders relaxed, and his fingers stopped flying across the keys. “You don’t mind?”
“It’s better than sitting around here waiting for the end of the world.”
He nodded his understanding. “Well then.” He tore off the sheet of paper he’d been writing on. “How do you feel about Branson, Missouri?”
Chapter Twelve
Riley was on board. I had the feeling he and Art had been getting on each other’s nerves—they both seemed eager to get us the hell out of there. Bernice, embarrassed from having been caught in a lie about visiting the prisoner, didn’t have much to say on the matter.
Maurice, however, was a problem.
“I’m going with you,” he said.
I stood in the dark hallway outside my room, blinking at him. “What?”
“I’ll ride in the back. The windows are dark. Nobody will see me.”
“What about the house? And Stacy?” The concept had taken me so by surprise, my thoughts flailed around in my head looking for something solid to grab hold of. “What if Sara needs you?”
He chuckled. “Zo, they have phones, you know. Besides. All we need is a broom closet and I can be back there in seconds.”
“I don’t understand why you’d even want to go.”
“I’ve never been anywhere interesting. I always have to stay behind. I don’t pass for human, so I don’t get to go anywhere exciting, like Branson or Vegas. I want to see the lights, Zoey.”
For a minute, I actually thought he was going to cry. Maybe it was the low light of the hallway. “If it mea
ns that much, I guess you can come with us. But only until you see it, okay? It kind of makes me nervous that neither of us are at the house.”
“Andrew’s doing okay.”
“I’m sure he is, but I feel better when you’re in charge.”
Lunch had already come and gone before we left, but Branson was less than eight hours away, and with Maurice in the car, it made sense to arrive after dark anyway. He could see all the bright lights, and nobody could see him.
Now that we had another passenger, Gris insisted on sitting in the backseat with Maurice—which added Fauntleroy to his already unruly moniker once he introduced himself.
Gris and Maurice chattered constantly through the drive, sang show tunes, and then argued for eighty miles over whether Neil Diamond sang “Red, Red Wine” before UB40.
By the time we reached Springfield, my head pounded and Riley gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.
“What is that weird noise?” I asked, turning toward Riley in my seat.
A scowl the likes of which I’d never seen on him before carved deep lines across his face. For the first time, I could see how maybe reapers might be scary.
“Tire’s low.” He signaled and pulled to the shoulder. “Might be flat.”
Maurice unbuckled and sat forward. “What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?”
“Tire,” I said, getting out. “Stay put.”
“Where would I go?”
Gravel crunched under my feet. Riley came around to the passenger side, and we both stared at the puddle of rubber pooled beneath the wheel. Cars whizzed past on the highway, and my hair flew in every direction with their passing.
“Well, I’d say that’s flat.”
Riley nodded. “Guess so.”
We had to pull out the luggage to get to the spare. I had AAA, but between us, we could change the tire in less time than it would probably take for a mechanic to get there. The sun hadn’t gone down yet. We could do it.
Riley had the dead tire off and carried it to the back of the car to stash it when a police car pulled up behind us. I smiled at him and prayed he didn’t feel it necessary to stay long to chat.
Or glance in the back seat.
The windows were tinted, sure. But the car wasn’t a limo. If a person really looked, they could see shapes. A cop might ask about who was in the back seat.
And then he’ll want me to open the door for him. He’ll see Maurice and the entire Hidden world will be exposed. He might try to haul Maurice off somewhere for experiments. And then, oh, hello! Zombie Apocalypse.
Having totally freaked myself out, I smiled at the officer coming toward us, praying that I didn’t look like somebody trying to hide a dead body.
“Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble,” he said.
You have no freaking idea.
“Yes, sir,” Riley said, shaking the officer’s hand. “I think we’ve just about got it, though.”
“California plates,” he said, pushing back his hat. “Where you folks headed?”
My grin felt artificial. I knew I looked suspicious. Oh, God, he’s going to frisk me, and I have a list of Bigfoot witnesses in my pocket. I swallowed. “Branson.”
He nodded in approval. “Nice. We go to Branson couple times a year. The kids love it.”
Riley struggled with the lug nuts in an effort to hurry. It might’ve gone faster if I’d helped, but I leaned against the back passenger door, looking as casual as I could, blocking the window.
The officer made his way over and ducked his head to look. “Branson’s a great family place. You have kids back there?”
The car shifted and sank as Riley lowered the jack.
“That’s my brother,” Riley said.
The cop tried again to peer inside. “Sure would like to meet him.”
“I’m sure he would love to meet you, too. Unfortunately, it’s still light out. My brother has a condition. When we open the doors to get in and out, he has to stay covered or the sunlight will burn him.”
The police officer frowned. “You trying to tell me he’s a vampire, son?”
Riley chuckled. “No, sir. He’s sick.” He paused, then lowered his voice, as if trying not to let Maurice hear. “In fact, he’s dying. We’re taking him to Branson so he can see it all lit up. It’s his last wish.”
The cop’s face clouded, and he nodded his head. “Branson’s a good place.” He patted Riley on the shoulder. “Have a safe trip. God bless you, son.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He returned to his patrol car and climbed in.
Riley shut the hatch, and we both waved at the officer.
“What’s he doing?” I asked, without moving my lips much.
“Probably running our plates, just in case.”
“Fair enough. I guess it’s possible we made up such an unlikely story.”
We got back in the car and buckled in.
Riley started the engine, and we pulled back on the road. He stuck his tongue at me. “I didn’t hear you coming up with anything better.”
“I panicked. Sorry.”
Maurice piped up from the back seat. “Did I hear you say I’m dying?”
* * *
Thanks to the flat tire, we didn’t roll into Branson until close to eleven. Those of us who had done the driving minded the late hour, but later was better, as far as Maurice was concerned.
And Branson was lit up like a tiny Vegas to welcome him. Colored lights advertised every sort of show, from singing and dancing, to magic and comedy. Country entertainers competed against opera singers and trained animals to pull people in off the streets.
Maurice unbuckled his seatbelt and moved back and forth between windows, squealing like an excited child. “Zoey, it’s King Kong! Do you see him?”
I laughed. “He’s three stories tall, I can’t miss him.”
Gris, sitting on Maurice’s shoulder, was every bit as amazed at his first look at the town. “Is that the Titanic? I love that movie! I wish we could go into the museum.”
Maurice pressed his face against the window. “Ohmygosh, can we get frozen custard and ride go-carts?”
His excitement simultaneously delighted me and made my heart hurt. Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed him to come with us. Showing him things he could never actually do was cruel.
“We need sleep, Maurice,” I said. “Maybe we can figure out a disguise for you or something once we get through this.”
“Really?”
“I’m not promising anything. Maybe.”
What a bitch. Somebody should shoot me. I am the worst kind of person.
Riley understood both my discomfort and Maurice and Gris’s excitement. Despite the late hour, we drove up and down the main strip three or four times before getting a hotel room for the night. Our boys got several eyefuls and seemed content.
The experience gave me a new perspective on Gris. While he was ogling a brightly lit Elvis memorial, I sent a delicate probe his way to check on his emotions. The small campfire I’d felt in him before burned on its own. In fact, it seemed a little brighter, a little larger than it had been. I might have poured some emotional kerosene in there to get it going, but it was maintaining itself without my help. Gris was becoming something more.
Neither the monster nor the golem needed to sleep, but we did. We paid for a full suite so the boys could have a kitchen and living room while Riley and I had our own bedroom away from them. My intention had been to send Maurice home once we got there, but I didn’t have the heart.
“Let them have a slumber party,” I said, yawning and snuggling into Riley’s arms for the night. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
He kissed the top of my head and wrapped his arms around me. “As long as the llama doesn’t eat it, ma
rtinis get in free.”
His gentle snores stirred my hair and made me smile. I followed him into sleep a minute later.
* * *
The smell of good coffee, bacon, and homemade biscuits baking woke me in the morning.
I stretched and sat up. “I love you, Riley, but I think I may love Maurice a tiny bit more right now.”
Riley sniffed the air and grinned. “I’m going to marry that monster, someday. You’re on your own.”
Eggs, bacon, biscuits, honey. Maurice hadn’t made anything particularly special or gourmet, but it was all delicious. For Maurice, this was roughing it.
The kitchen in our suite had a small closet that held a broom, iron and ironing board. Maurice had squeezed into it and gone back to my house to get groceries from my fridge and pantry.
I would trade the ability to go to the Titanic museum for being able to travel through closets in a second. Then again, I didn’t really feel the urge to go to the Titanic museum, so it wasn’t a fair comparison.
After breakfast, Riley went off to shower, and Gris glued himself to the television to watch episodes of Scooby Doo.
Maurice sipped his coffee, a pensive look on his face. “I apologized to Stacy this morning.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You did?”
He nodded. “I was so mad at her for walking around in public like that. I never realized until last night how much I was missing by staying at home all the time. If I hadn’t been with you, I might have bolted from the car and run down the street last night. I wanted to see everything. I wanted to do everything.”
“I’m sorry, Maurice. I shouldn’t have let you come.”
“No, Zo. Don’t feel like that. I’m glad I got to see it.”
“Maybe when we get through all this we’ll go on a real vacation. I’ll figure something out.”
He patted my hand. “I know you will, Zo. First, let’s save your mom. Vacation can wait.”
* * *
Two hours later, Maurice was back at the house in California, Gris was absorbed by Leave It to Beaver reruns, and Riley and I hit the street.
Our hot tip from the all-seeing eyes and ears of the goblin call center told us the best place to go. We put ourselves in the predatory path of the scam artist’s assistant outside the Ripley’s Believe It or Not Museum.