by Wen Spencer
"My ears?"
"Yes, your ears." Ru turned Ukiah's head to peer into his ears. "Ah, yes."
"What?"
"There's something I want to check." He held Ukiah's head still and peered into his eyes, making little doctorlike noises. Ru took out a small pen flashlight and made Ukiah wince by shining the light into his eyes.
"Ru, why . . . why are you doing that?"
"They say that the eyes are the windows into the soul." Ru gazed into his eyes. "I'm looking at your soul."
Ru's eyes were black, almond shaped, with the elliptical fold under thick black eyebrows. There didn't seem to be anything mystical about them, and yet Ru seemed serious.
"What do souls look like?"
Ru leaned closer, as if to see better. "Oh, souls come in a range. Some are quite black. Some are dark blue. Others are red. The soul of a child is pure white."
"What color is mine?"
"Are you worried about the condition of your soul?"
"I-I'm not totally sure I have one. Magic Boy had one—but there's more than one of us now."
Ru winced. "You have one, babe. And it looks all nice and squeaky-clean to me."
Ukiah stared at Ru, trying to tell if Ru was telling him the truth. Ru gazed back, unwavering, so close that his breath brushed warm against Ukiah's wind-chilled cheek. It was the directness of Ru's gaze that finally convinced him—Ru was doing everything in his power to appear truthful. "You're lying to me."
"Of course I am." The facade breached, Ru gave a mischievous grin. "But the fact you weren't sure only goes to prove I'm right." He glanced off, over Ukiah's shoulder. "Are you hungry?"
Ukiah followed his gaze to the hot-dog vendor; just looking at it made his stomach clench up tight, reminding him that his body had been working on overdrive to heal him up. "The cult took my wallet. I don't have any cash."
Ru eyed the hand that Ukiah had pressed to his stomach, trying to soothe away the knot. "That was an offer—I'll buy you a couple of hot dogs."
"Thank you, but—Ru! Ru!"
The DEA agent had already started for the cart, ignoring Ukiah's protest. Rather than shout after him, Ukiah trailed behind, at a loss for how to handle the situation. The Pack had listened with their sharp ears and now radiated mild amusement. Affection seemed to be a viral thing for the Pack—the Dogs had also been affected by Atticus's memories. It built on their gratitude that Ru's loving acceptance had kept Atticus mentally stable and provided a safe outlet for Atticus's sexual drive. That Ru was now treating Ukiah with kindness only sealed their opinion. It made Ukiah wonder about their affection for Indigo and Max—did his feelings make the Pack love them too? Was there a rebound effect, if his relationships soured? His moms talked about the difficulty of staying friends on both sides of a divorce.
He should keep it in mind.
Ru ordered him two chili dogs, fully loaded, and a root beer without asking his preferences—but it was what he'd normally order. He supposed that Ru—via Atticus—knew what he liked, just as Indigo or Max would know.
"Ru, there isn't time for this."
"It's chili dogs." Ru paid the vendor, collected the chili dogs, and handed them to Ukiah. "Not the Four Seasons. Eat them"—Ru cut off another protest—"before the chili falls off."
Ukiah bit into the sandwich in his right hand. In his post-battering state, it was the best chili dog he'd ever tasted. He suspected, though, that anything short of roadkill would be appealing; it was a trick his body used to get him to cooperate.
In certain ways, Ru was no different.
"What are you doing here?" Ukiah asked around a mouthful of chili, cheese, and bun.
"I made a wrong turn and ended up driving by." Ru waved toward the parking lot. The team's Ford Explorer with its Maryland plates sat among the cars bearing Massachusetts plates. "I saw you and thought I'd stop to talk."
"Why?"
"Because I like you," Ru echoed back Ukiah's reason; Ukiah wanted to believe he meant it. "And you're Atticus's brother—and much as Atticus currently wants nothing to do with you, that's important to him."
Ukiah sighed. "This has been one screwed-up reunion. I suppose it could have been worse, but frankly I'm not sure how."
"There's some rule of nature that says family reunions are supposed to be traumatic; I've never been to one that wasn't—but then, I'm gay, and that comes with interesting baggage."
Ukiah thought of how his Mom Jo's extensive family treated his Mom Lara. When the two presented themselves merely as college roommates, everyone had warmly accepted Lara. Gatherings became quiet battlefields after his moms confessed their true relationship.
He finished the first chili dog and asked, "Does your family know about Atticus? Do they accept him? Or do they blame him for making you gay?" Which was what Mom Jo's family accused Mom Lara of.
"I figured out in junior high school that I was gay, and I told my parents then." Ru opened the can of root beer and held it out to Ukiah. "They wanted their kids to be unprejudiced, so I was kind of clueless about what I was announcing to them. Gay people were okay in my parents' book, so I thought it would be okay for me to be one. After that little bomb went off, they were a little more specific as to what 'okay' constituted. You know, Catholics are nice people, but don't marry one."
Ukiah took a deep gulp of root beer and felt it wash sugary goodness through his calorie-starved system. "What is wrong with Catholics?"
"I'm not sure! Part of my parents' 'unprejudiced' campaign was never telling us anything bad about other religions and races. After I told them I was gay, though, it became clear that they only wanted me to marry a straight, Japanese Buddhist—they were hoping this being gay stuff was a phase I was going through. High school was rough, and I made it rougher by rebelling against the norm at every step. They were afraid to send me to college—that either I'd self-destruct or the big wide world would chew me up and swallow me down without a trace. By the time Atticus showed up, they were glad to see him. He grounded me back to someone they could relate to."
"I'm glad then." Ukiah finished the second chili dog and the last of the root beer. "I wish I could have been there for him when he was growing up. Being alone nearly destroyed him."
Ru gazed at him for several minutes, as if searching for some truth in his eyes. If he loved Ru because of Atticus's memories, what did Ru feel, with Ukiah having Atticus's face? "What about the future?" Ru broke his silence. "Are you going to be there for him from now on?"
"You said yourself, he doesn't want anything to do with me." Ukiah stood. It was nearly ten. He held out his left arm to Ru as a reminder. "He made himself fairly clear on that point."
"He was scared, and that made him angry." Ru clasped Ukiah's hand. "I could talk to him—make it right between the two of you."
Possibilities unfolded for Ukiah. He could be the brother that Atticus always wanted. He could share with him Magic Boy's memories. They could go to Pendleton together, and meet their many nieces and nephews, giving Atticus all the family he always wanted, had desperately needed as a child. "You could?"
"You'd have to work with me." Ru tightened his hold on Ukiah's hand. "Tell me what you're planning. Keeping us out is not going to build trust, and I think that's all that's needed here. Honesty and trust."
What Ru said felt right; Ukiah couldn't argue that.
"We've set up a trap," he said reluctantly. "For Ice—he's the leader of the Temple of New Reason. I'm the bait."
"Are you insane? After what they've done to you?"
"They want me to translate some . . ." Ukiah paused as he felt a distant jolt of fear and surprise. He turned to gaze across the river, reaching for Atticus and finding a tight knot of Ontongard Gets.
"What is it?"
Distant gunshots thundered and a flash of pain came from Atticus.
"Atticus!" Ukiah cried, and started running.
"Cub! Cub, no!" Rennie's will pushed against him, trying to get him to stop. "Stay; we'll deal with it. We can't risk you f
alling to Hex too."
Ukiah paused, recognizing the wisdom of what Rennie said, but he could sense Atticus pitching a running fight, heading away from him. Already Atticus was at the edge of what he could sense, and he was the one most connected to Atticus. His brother lacked the bonds Ukiah had with the Pack, from Rennie's blood mouse to months of close acquaintance; the Dogs were reacting to Ukiah, not Atticus. Wait—Ru might know where Atticus was. Ukiah turned back, surprised to see he'd covered a city block and stood at the foot of the bridge. The park bench was empty and the Explorer was gone from its parking space.
"Shit." Ukiah ran a hand through his hair, looking back across the bridge to the sprawling city where Atticus was. He could sense the Pack already across the bridge, racing toward Atticus. His brother was a more experienced fighter than he was, he reminded himself. Still, he started across the bridge at a sprint, dodging pedestrians.
Suddenly one of the joggers slammed into him, jabbing a hypodermic needle into him. Ukiah jerked back, surprised and then panicked as he felt some drug surge through his system, carrying numbness.
Oh, this is bad.
Other joggers veered toward him, and he realized he'd been seeing them for over a half hour, circling him on the paths around the park. The cult had laid their own trap and he was neatly in it.
As his legs folded, the cultists caught hold of him, pressed him up against the railing, and then flipped him over.
The Charles River expanded to fill his vision, and he hit hard, a flash of stunning pain. Then he was flailing in the icy water.
Oh, God, this is so bad.
There was someone in the water with him, snagging something onto his jacket. As he was dragged upward, he considered slipping free of his coat, and then realized that in his current condition, if he did, he'd drown. Moments later they broke the water's surface, and he coughed and sputtered for air.
The boat loomed up beside him, a wall of white, and hands were tugging him upward.
"Well, look what we landed," Ice drawled as Ukiah was dragged aboard. "An angel fish."
Chapter Eleven
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Atticus ran like a fox before the hounds. The chase went through the quiet treed lawns and stately old brick buildings of MIT's campus, and out onto its busy main street. He was used to dashing through cars and crowds—although usually running after someone rather than from—but the principle was the same. The trick was making eye contact with drivers and other pedestrians and convincing them with a hard stare to keep the hell out of your way.
He'd just made the opposite side of the street when a bullet struck him high in the left shoulder. He stumbled and fell, the window above him shattering as a second bullet missed him. He hit the sidewalk in an explosion of pain that threatened to black him out. A bullet kissed the sidewalk beside his cheek and ricocheted off in a whine. Another tugged at him as it plowed through the leather of his jacket. He rolled and fumbled out his pistol. He hated to use a gun in an urban situation, but he had no choice.
He scrambled to his knees, braced himself, and aimed down on the shooter, who was nearly on top of him. His first bullet took the shooter square in the chest, sprawling the man backward onto the sidewalk with a meaty, lifeless thump. Recoil sent a shock of fresh pain through Atticus. Gritting his teeth, he aimed at the second man. His pistol kicked pain through him as he fired, the first bullet only grazing the man's shoulder. Unlike a normal human, the man—no, creature—didn't even flinch, coming straight at him as if pain and death didn't matter. Atticus squeezed off two more shots, nailing his attacker this time.
His SIG Sauer had a magazine of twelve bullets plus one in the chamber. As he lined up the axe man, he counted the bullets down. Nine. Eight. Seven.
Six bullets left, he thought as he lurched to his feet, ears ringing. Three down, but would they stay down? There were rats forming in the pooling blood from the first, and he sensed the body knitting together heart muscle at stunning speed.
The other two—Parity and the woman—were closing. He could wait and shoot them, but then what? He'd be out of bullets and the first man would be healed. He needed breathing room and more of a plan.
He ran east, along the busy street. Behind him he sensed the first dead man come to life and start after him.
A human Atticus could outrun, even if he was hurt. Wounded, against these creatures so like himself, he could sense the gap between them quickly closing. There was the Jag, though, parked close by; if he could get to it, he'd be home free.
Bullets whined past him, striking storefront windows, marking his trail with fractured flowers of destruction in the safety glass.
He was running past a red-trimmed building when a bullet caught him in the leg. He stumbled out of his full run, and the female Ontongard tackled him through a window. They dropped down a stairwell beyond. Atticus hit worn tile a story and a half below, the female on top of him, a smothering blanket of hate in human form.
They were on a subway station platform, and the handful of people waiting were startled by their sudden, violent appearance. An outbound train had just pulled in, its doors clattering open. From the dark tunnel of the inbound line came the ominous roar of an incoming train.
Not good.
The gunman and axe man he'd shot, the ones who should still be dead, dropped down to land lightly beside him.
Atticus lashed out at the woman, slamming her off him and coming up in sweeping kick to take out the axe man. He couldn't reach the gunman in time.
This is going to hurt.
Suddenly Rennie Shaw was between him and the gunman, wearing a black leather jacket with the picture of a snarling dog and the words "Dog Warrior." The gun thundered, booming in the enclosed space. The bullet punched through Shaw, exiting out of his back in a fist-sized hole. Blood splattered Atticus and crawled, gathering together into a tiny mote of snarling anger.
The female punched Atticus hard in his wounded shoulder, distracting him from the sentient blood. He caught her arm and broke it as he swung her into the axe man. Humans would have fumbled, but the two dodged each other with choreographed ease. The female grasped Atticus's arm, her bones already knitting, and held him as the axe man swung back his axe. Behind them the inbound train thundered into the station.
With a snarl, Hellena Gobeyn dropped from street level to the axe man's feet, picked him up, and flung him into the path of the oncoming train. The man vanished under the bright steel wheels with a bloom of blood scent. A moment later, rats swarmed out up out of the pit.
Another Ontongard and a wave of Dog Warriors rolled down the stairs, already locked in battle. The subway platform became a mass of snarling, struggling bodies.
The door-closing chime sounded on the outbound train and Atticus found himself suddenly hauled up and thrust into the subway train.
"Go!" Rennie Shaw barked, producing a sawed-off shotgun from under his duster like in a magic trick. He turned, firing at one of the Ontongard in a roar of sound and a cloud of gunsmoke.
Then the door closed and the train pulled away from the carnage.
Atticus grabbed a pole to keep from falling. His phone vibrated. He pulled it out to discover he'd missed two calls already.
"Steele."
"Where are you?" Ru cried through the phone. "Cambridge looks like a war zone! What the hell happened?"
"I'm on a subway train." Atticus turned to ask the other passengers the train's destination and found that they had crowded to either end of the car, as far away from him as they could. "Where are we going?"
"C-C-Central is the next station, "the nearest of the passengers stuttered, "then Harvard, and . . . oh, God, I don't remember."
"Porter, Davis, Alewife," someone behind Atticus said, but when he turned, he couldn't tell who. Everyone had big doe eyes of fear.
The train pulled into Central, and when the doors opened the passengers bolted, throwing frightened glances back to see if he was getting
off too. He didn't have the heart to follow them; he couldn't stand them looking at him like he was a monster. The door-closing chime sounded. The doors closed and the train pulled out of the station.
"Atty?" Ru's voice pulled his attention back to the phone.
"I'm on a train going to Alewife." Atticus sighed and sat down in the now empty car. "Come get me there."
"Okay."
He hung up and sagged back in the seat. What the hell was that? Zheng had warned him, but with quiet, reasonable words. She had left out that they would recognize him from a distance and how profound their hate for the Pack ran. Why? Weren't they the same race? What the hell was that all about?
Usually Ru bandaging him up was a soothing activity, but Atticus found his mind racing over the last few days, the little scraps of information that he'd pieced into an imperfect patchwork quilt of knowledge. He was finding gaping holes in his knowledge. He wasn't even sure which theory to believe about himself: werewolf, angel, demon, or alien? Who did he trust to tell him the truth? Agent Zheng? The Pack?
"You know," he said to break the silence of his own thinking, "Batman was just a nutcase."
"Hmm?"
"No, here he was, stinking rich, huge house, no need to do any work at all, and what does he do? Get a wife? Adopt some needy kids whom he doesn't bend to his own vigilante lifestyle? No. He sulks around at night, breaking the law, ruining crime scenes, and destroying any chance of building a criminal suit against any of these lowlifes. No wonder the badly run insane asylum was full—by the time he stomped through a case, the only thing you could legally do with these criminals was commit them and then lose the paperwork."
Ru paused in stripping the sterile wrapper from an oversize bandage. "Is this a 'we should get a life and go on vacation' speech?"
"What?"
Ru shrugged and gingerly pressed the bandage in place. "The line of reasoning usually goes: He let a petty criminal define his life, he should have moved on, all that money and he never kicks back and enjoys it, let's go to Bermuda."