Black To Dust: A Quentin Black Paranormal Mystery (Quentin Black Mystery Book 7)

by JC Andrijeski

  “Now, Alyson,” he said. “It can’t wait.”

  He spoke like someone used to having his words obeyed.

  I wasn’t really someone used to having to listen to people who spoke to me like that, though, maybe because I’d never had jobs high-paying enough that I had to care. Even our boss at the diner, Tom, didn’t go there with me.

  With this guy, I hesitated.

  Maybe part of it was the sheer fact of his physical presence.

  I’d never stood this close to him before, not while he was standing, too, so I’d never really realized how tall he was, or how broad-shouldered. I definitely hadn’t realized that my head only came up to about the middle of his chest. He had one of those frames that made him look more lean than big, more of a runner type than a weight lifter, but now that he stood directly in front of me, I realized that impression might be deceptive, too.

  Up close, he looked more like one of Jon’s martial arts buddies, or even Jon himself. The muscles this guy wore definitely looked functional, not purely decorative.

  Until now, he’d never looked me in the face before, either.

  When he ordered from me, he never looked up from the table, or away from the window. He didn’t so much as glance in my direction when he walked into the diner, or when he left.

  He was looking at me now, though.

  His light-colored eyes stunned me in some way I couldn’t quite articulate to myself, maybe in part because they weren’t what I expected. I’d known his eyes were on the light side, but I hadn’t realized how light. Looking at them now, they appeared to have almost no color at all, apart from a vague tint. I supposed technically they must be blue or gray, but they reminded me more of crystals I’d seen in New Age rock shops. Their lightness was made stranger by his eyes’ almond slant and the pitch black hair, but I didn’t see how they could be contact lenses.

  Maybe he’d gotten some kind of cosmetic surgery?

  Either way, it wasn’t my finest moment, me gaping up at him like a drunk teenager.

  Mr. Monochrome stared back at me, exuding impatience.

  Then, without warning, he moved.

  Before I could jerk back, or get out a single word, he caught hold of my upper arm. His fingers felt like flesh-wrapped steel, not bone; they closed around my bicep like a vice. He gripped me tightly enough that I let out a surprised sound, but I didn’t fight him.

  I was still staring at his face, when something slammed into my chest, a flood of warmth.

  I didn’t see anything, but it felt nearly physical in intensity. It confused me, calmed me, wiped out my ability to think. It was thorough, too, whatever it was. I relaxed totally under his fingers. It didn’t even cross my mind to fight the sensation.

  When my vision cleared, he was watching me, his eyes sharp, filled with scrutiny, as if he was trying to read something in the details of my face.

  “All right?” he said.

  Thinking about his question, I nodded.

  “Okay.” I nodded a second time. The motion felt odd, almost mechanical. “Yes.”

  I saw his shoulders relax, but something about the way he moved, even the nod he gave me in return, struck me as strange. Not in an alarming way; rather, it fascinated me. He moved oddly. It reminded me of something, that small gesture, those little adjustments of his body and face. The way he stood there. His angular face.

  I tried to remember what it reminded me of.

  He didn’t wait for me to finish that line of thought.

  “Come on,” he said, gruff.

  Before I’d made sense of the words, he’d already dragged me through the opening in the linoleum-topped lunch counter.

  I followed him, without a care in my mind.

  CASS FOLLOWED BEHIND us. I was aware of her, despite that calm over my mind.

  Her voice confused me as it grew increasingly frantic.

  “Wait!” She reached for me, catching hold of my arm when we’d crossed half the space between the diner counter and the front door. The man holding me didn’t pause his steps. Scarcely glancing back at her, he pulled me easily out of her grasp. “Hey! Wait! Where are you going with her? STOP! STOP!”

  I heard the fear in her voice.

  Somehow, it didn’t alarm me, though.

  Rather, it made me concerned.

  Cass was my friend. Why was she upset? What was upsetting her? I half-turned back, about to ask her, when a voice overshadowed the thought.

  It’s all right, Allie. You’re fine. Cass is fine. She just doesn’t understand.

  I nodded to myself, acknowledging the words. Then my brow scrunched.

  “Understand what?” I said aloud. “What doesn’t she understand?”

  He didn’t answer me.

  Despite his silence, my mind still felt calm. I mused over my own calmness, the fact that I was totally unfazed by this strange man leaving my place of employment with me. I didn’t try to fight him at all, which somehow didn’t strike me as strange, either. I followed him obediently towards the restaurant’s lobby, even as my mind turned over what was happening in the distance, watching me and the man with the black hair and Cass as if hovering over the three of us.

  Then a different voice brought my focus back down.

  It was sharp, loud, and it came from right in front of us.

  It was also extremely familiar.

  “What do you think you’re doing, man?”

  My mind wavered…

  Then it clicked back, sharpening to a denser focus.

  My brother, Jon, stood in front of us, his long, dirty-blond hair up in a half-ponytail, probably because he’d just walked here from where he worked at a nearby martial arts studio. He stared from my face to the man standing slightly in front of me. His hazel eyes focused on the hand that gripped my bicep, right before they slid upwards, measuring the man whose hand it was. He looked at me, as if gauging my expression.

  Then his focus zeroed in on the man holding me.

  “Let go of her,” Jon said. “Now. Or I’m calling the cops.”

  There was zero bluster in Jon’s voice, no hint of empty threat. He spoke without emotion, his voice an unequivocal command. It was his martial arts voice, the one he used with his students. I knew that voice––I’d seen it in action when I’d gone to watch his fights and other events––but I’d never seen it used like this.

  Something about it brought my mind back, marginally, at least.

  I tugged on my arm in the tall man’s grip, trying to retrieve it from his fingers.

  The man glanced at me, his grip tightening.

  Calm down, I heard distinctly in my mind. Now, Alyson.

  That time, it didn’t calm me though. Not as much, at least.

  Even so, I couldn’t quite force myself to speak. I frowned at him instead, gritting my teeth as I fought to clear my mind, to understand what was happening, what I was doing.

  The man in front of me faced Jon. “I won’t hurt her.”

  Jon frowned. He looked at me. “Are you all right, Al?”

  I frowned, looking up at the man holding my arm. For the first time, it genuinely crossed my mind to wonder what was wrong with me, why I’d been so willing to go with him.

  “I’m fine,” I said, my voice doubtful.

  Jon’s eyes never left my face when he spoke to Cass. “What’s going on here, Cassandra?”

  “I don’t know!” she said, that worry sharpening her voice.. “He just grabbed her and started walking for the door. They didn’t even talk. She was just… going with him. Like he’d drugged her or something. She didn’t argue with him or anything!”

  Jon’s mouth hardened. He glared at the man holding me, then held out his hand. “Come here, Al.” Jon motioned towards me, a brief flick of his fingers. “Right now. Get behind me.”

  I started to move forward, but the man holding me tightened his grip.

  “No,” he said. He looked at Jon, then at Cass. “I need to talk to her. There isn’t time for this.”

 
His voice was deep enough to shock me. For the first time, I noticed his English carried an accent, maybe one he’d been hiding before, or adjusting in some way, at least. That accent sounded German to me. It definitely came from somewhere in Europe.

  Jon stared up at him. “Excuse me? You don’t get to drag women out of public spaces because you decide you want to talk to them, bro. You need to let go of her. Now.”

  “Don’t make me force the issue, Jon.” He glanced at Cass, who now stood to his right, and was edging between Jon and the black-haired man. “Cass.”

  Jon’s light eyes widened perceptibly. Then they narrowed, turning openly aggressive for the first time. “Do we know you, man? How do you know our names?”

  There was a silence.

  Then Mr. Monochrome turned his head, fixing that cold gaze on me.

  “Tell them you’re coming with me willingly,” he growled. “Tell them we’re just going outside to talk. Tell them it’s all right… that they can watch us from inside.”

  “What?” I stared up at him, bewildered. “That’s my brother.”

  “I know who it is,” the man growled back. “Either you deal with this, or I will.”

  Just then, something made him start. He tensed abruptly, turning his head back towards Jon. I felt every muscle in the long body clench next to me, his arms, chest and shoulders suddenly taut as a drawn bowstring. His grip on my arm loosened, then tightened again.

  Fluid as liquid, he moved, sliding his free hand into the jacket he wore.

  When he withdrew that hand, he held a gun.

  Before I could take a breath, much less scream, he aimed the barrel of that gun to my head. I let out a gasp when he wrenched me closer to him, flicking a metal bar on the end of the gun, presumably to unlock the safety, or to cock it. Either way, the gesture was smooth, practiced, and definitely clear in terms of intent.

  My heart… stopped.

  When it resumed, it jackhammered in my chest, adrenaline flooding my limbs.

  Cass screamed.

  I heard other people, diners probably, reacting, too.

  Still, I couldn’t seem to make my mind work well enough to speak.

  I heard Jon yell at Cass to get back, to get away from the gun, to go back behind the counter. I felt more emotions crash into me, people panicking, talking excitedly, chairs screeching as they moved back, as they got out of the way. I could barely process any of that, though.

  I looked only at Mr. Monochrome, and the gun he held to my head.

  Mr. Monochrome continued to stare at Jon.

  Looking up at him though, I realized it wasn’t Jon he was looking at, at all.

  He was staring at the man who’d walked into the diner behind him.

  3

  GLOW-EYE

  I FOUND MYSELF staring at that man, too. He moved like some kind of predatory animal, stalking in through the glass doors and winding around Jon like he was little more than a pebble in the stream, a minor hindrance to reaching his destination.

  The new man was handsome, startlingly so.

  Auburn hair fell on either side of perfect bone structure, large eyes of pale amber, dark brows, a well-formed jaw, and full, beautifully-shaped lips quirked in a faint smirk. His eyes never left the man holding the gun to my head.

  The smirk definitely seemed aimed at him.

  “Now, now, Revi’,” the auburn-haired man said. “Let’s not get overexcited.”

  Mr. Monochrome jammed the gun tighter to my head. “You can’t possibly think I won’t do it.” The German-accented voice was cold as ice. “Turn around. Leave. Now, Terry. Or this ends here.”

  My jaw loosened. I looked at Jon, who was staring between the man holding a gun to my head and the one he’d called “Terry.”

  I began to feel like I’d walked into the middle of a movie set. Jon and I felt almost superfluous to whatever was unfolding. I could tell Jon was struggling to make sense of that same thing, of how he’d been shunted aside even as things escalated. Even so, Jon recovered faster than I did. After a bare breath, held up a hand to Mr. Monochrome.

  “Put the gun down, man,” he said, his voice shaken. “Please. Don’t hurt her.”

  Mr. Monochrome’s eyes never left the auburn-haired man.

  “Leave, Terry,” he growled. “Right now. My orders are clear. I will kill her.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  The man holding me gripped me tighter, his hand on my shoulder now, his fingers digging into muscle, practically holding me by my collar bone.

  “The fuck I won’t. Walk out of here. Now.”

  Jon turned, staring at the auburn-haired man without lowering the hand he held up towards Mr. Monochrome. “Are you a cop?” he snapped. “What are you doing, man? Leave! Don’t you see he means it?”

  The auburn-haired man didn’t glance at Jon, either.

  “This is so childish, Revi’,” he said, clicking his tongue in an oddly expressive way as he shook his head. “We both know you will not kill her.”

  “Terry––”

  “The police are already on their way, my friend.” The auburn-haired man smiled. He shook his head, that smile still playing around his full lips. “So is SCARB. Are you really so willing to wear a collar again? Do you miss Asia so much, you’d be happy to return there to live on a work camp?” Clicking his tongue again, he sighed, holding out his hand. “Give me the gun, Revi’. Give it to me, and release her. I will let you leave before they get here.”

  When he took a step towards us, Mr. Monochrome stepped back.

  Gripping me tighter, Mr. Monochrome angled himself behind me, still holding the gun to my temple. He began moving us in a circle, taking a sideways step in the direction of the door, as if he meant to angle us around Jon and the auburn-haired man. Jon turned with us, his hand still up. He was pale now, and I saw his eyes dart towards the door, then back to the gun still pressed hard to my temple. He glanced at the auburn-haired man, without taking his eyes off the gun for more than a millisecond.

  “You a cop?” Jon said again.

  The auburn-haired man smiled, his eyes still following the man who held me. “In a manner of speaking. Yes.”

  “He’s not a fucking cop,” the man holding me said. His voice was hard as metal, still tinged with that German accent. “Jon, you don’t want her to go with him. Trust me.”

  Jon gave him a hard look, then looked back at the auburn-haired man.

  For some reason, I found myself thinking that Jon actually believed him.

  I believed him, too.

  It was entirely irrational, but I would rather leave there with Mr. Monochrome than with the handsome man who said he was a cop.

  Mr. Monochrome continued to maneuver us towards the door.

  The auburn-haired man took a step towards us. Then another. He walked cautiously, his eyes on the man holding me, as if he was approaching a tiger.

  “Revi’,” he said. “Be reasonable.”

  Like Jon, he held up a hand, as if to calm a wild animal–-one that was cornered, snarling at him. His voice turned soothing, matter-of-fact. “You’ve lost this round, old friend. You waited too long. Let her go. If your people want to negotiate getting her back––”

  The man holding me let out a humorless laugh.

  “Go fuck yourself, Terry,” he growled.

  The man with the auburn hair smiled faintly, then shifted his gaze until he was looking solely at me. His eyes and expression grew solemn as he studied my face.

  I found I couldn’t look away from those amber, light-filled irises. They seemed to glow with their own internal light as he watched me seriously.

  “Has he told you, little sister?” he said. “Has he told you who you are?”

  When I just stared at him blankly, the man broke out in a disarming smile.

  “Of course he didn’t,” he mused. “Classic Dehgoies. Why would he tell you anything when it’s easier to simply club you over the head and drag you with him by force?” Clucking his tongue lightly
in amusement, the man shook his head, still focusing on me. “We have been looking for you longer than you’ve been alive, Alyson dear––”

  “Shut up,” the man holding me growled. “Quit with the head-games, Terry.”

  The man ignored him, looking only at me. “Do you have any idea how important you are, Alyson?” he said gently. “How the elders managed to hide you here, after all this time, allowing you to play human… well. Let’s just say, it’s upped my respect for their abilities a fair bit. I would never have guessed they’d be capable of such a thing.”

  “Terry––”

  The auburn-haired man held up a hand. “You are the Bridge, Alyson May Taylor. Do you know what that means?” His smile turned faintly predatory, conspiratorial. “Do you?”

  I didn’t answer, swallowing as I glanced sideways at the man holding the gun to my head. It occurred to me again that somehow I was less afraid of him than I was of the man with the auburn hair. The thought made no sense. It was borderline nuts, like the fastest form of Stockholm Syndrome imaginable, but somehow the feeling persisted.

  The auburn-haired man seemed to take my silence as an answer.

  “The Bridge is sent here to save us, Alyson,” he said, his voice lulling, seductive. “You’re going to save us all. You’re going to return your people to their rightful place––burning the human world, and all of its cruel, empty, child-like bullshit to the ground. You’re going to set us free. You’re going to force them to evolve, Bridge Alyson.”

  I stared at him, unable to respond.

  Somehow, I could feel he meant what he said.

  I saw it in him, like one can see the fervor of a religious fanatic. It reminded me of that sheen in the eyes of people who’d knocked on my front door, there to sell me on their God, prophets and churches. He believed his words. He pinned hope on that belief. Some part of him maybe even lived for it, in a sense.

  He truly believed he’d been waiting for me.

  I found myself concentrating on him harder.

  Silver lights flickered at me, out of time, out of joint. Above him, I glimpsed a pyramid made of light, rotating in the darkness over his head. Something about that vision brought a spike of pain to my temples. It was white-hot, blinding.