by Jim Butcher
We reached the front doors. Thomas studied himself in the glass and struck a pose. “True, but I look gorgeous doing them. Besides, Sarah worked eleven Fridays to Mondays in a row without a complaint. She earned a favor.”
Outside, the snow was thickening. Raymond was atop his ladder, fiddling with the camera. Molly was watching him. I waved until I got her attention, then made a little outline figure of a box with my fingers, and beckoned her. She nodded and killed the engine.
“I came in here expecting trouble. We’re lucky I didn’t bounce a few of these kids off the ceiling before I realized they weren’t something from the dark side.”
“Bah,” Thomas said. “Never happen. You’re careful.”
I snorted. “I hope you won’t mind if I just give you your present and run.”
“Wow,” Thomas said. “Gracious much?”
“Up yours,” I said as Molly grabbed the present and hurried in through the cold, shivering all the way. “And happy birthday.”
He turned to me and gave me a small, genuinely pleased smile. “Thank you.”
There was a click of high heels in the hall behind us, and a young woman appeared. She was pretty enough, I suspected, but in the tight black dress, black hose, and with her hair slicked back like that, she came off sort of threatening. She gave me a slow, cold look and said, “So. I see you’re keeping low company after all, Ravenius.”
Ever suave, I replied, “Uh. What?”
“’Ah-ree,” Thomas said.
I glanced at him.
He put his hand flat on the top of his head and said, “Do this.”
I peered at him.
He gave me a look.
I sighed and put my hand on the top of my head.
The girl in the black dress promptly did the same thing and gave me a smile. “Oh, right, sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“I will be back in one moment,” Thomas said, his accent back. “Personal business.”
“Right,” she said, “sorry. I figured Ennui had stumbled onto a subplot.” She smiled again, then took her hand off the top of her head, reassumed that cold, haughty expression, and stalked clickety-clack back to the bistro.
I watched her go, turned to my brother while we both stood there with our hands flat on top of our heads, elbows sticking out like chicken wings, and said, “What does this mean?”
“We’re out of character,” Thomas said.
“Oh,” I said. “And not a subplot.”
“If we had our hands crossed over our chests,” Thomas said, “we’d be invisible.”
“I missed dinner,” I said. I put my other hand on my stomach. Then, just to prove that I could, I patted my head and rubbed my stomach. “Now I’m out of character—and hungry.”
“You’re always hungry. How is that out of character?”
“True,” I said. I frowned, then looked back. “What’s taking Molly—”
My apprentice stood facing away from me, her back pressed to the glass doors. She stood rigid, one hand pressed to her mouth. Thomas’s birthday present, in its pink and red Valentine’s Day wrapping paper, lay on its side among grains of snowmelt on the sidewalk. Molly trembled violently.
Thomas was a beat slow to catch on to what was happening. “Isn’t that skirt a little light for the weather? Look, she’s freezing.”
Before he got to “skirt,” I was out the door. I seized Molly and dragged her inside, eyes on the parking lot. I noticed two things.
First, that Raymond’s ladder was tipped over and lay on its side in the parking lot. Flakes of snow were already gathering upon it. In fact, the snow was coming down more and more heavily, despite the weather forecast that had called for clearing skies.
Second, there were droplets of blood on my car and the cars immediately around it, the ones closest to Raymond’s ladder. They were rapidly freezing and they glittered under the parking lot’s lamps like tiny brilliant rubies.
“What?” Thomas asked as I brought Molly back in. “What is—” He stared out the windows for a second and answered the question for himself. “Crap.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Molly?”
She gave me a wild-eyed glance, shook her head once, then bowed it and closed her eyes, speaking in a low, repetitive whisper.
“What the hell?” Thomas said.
“She’s in psychic shock,” I said quietly.
“Never seen you in psychic shock,” my brother said.
“Different talents. I blow things up. Molly’s a sensitive, and getting more so,” I told him. “She’ll snap herself out of it, but she needs a minute.”
“Uh-huh,” Thomas said quietly. He stared intently at the shuddering young woman, his eyes shifting colors slightly, from deep grey to something paler.
“Hey,” I said to him. “Focus.”
He gave his head a little shake, his eyes gradually darkening again. “Right. Come on. Let’s get her a chair and some coffee and stop standing around in front of big glass windows making targets of ourselves.”
We did, dragging her into the bistro and to the table nearest the door, where Thomas could stand watching the darkness while I grabbed the girl some coffee from a dispenser, holding my hand on top of my silly head the whole while.
Molly got her act together within a couple of minutes after I sat down. It surprised me: Despite my casual words to Thomas, I hadn’t seen her that badly shaken up before. She grabbed at the coffee, shaking, and slurped some.
“Okay, grasshopper,” I said. “What happened?”
“I was on the way in,” she replied, her voice distant and oddly flat. “The security man. S-something killed him.” A hint of something desperate crept into her voice. “I f-felt him die. It was horrible.”
“What?” I asked her. “Give me some details to work with.”
Molly shook her head rapidly. “D-didn’t see. It was too fast. I sensed something moving behind me—m-maybe a footstep. Then there was a quiet sound and h-he died. . . .” Her breaths started coming rapidly again.
“Easy,” I told her, keeping my voice in the steady cadence I’d used when teaching her how to maintain self-control under stress. “Breathe. Focus. Remember who you are.”
“Okay,” she said, several breaths later. “Okay.”
“This sound. What was it?”
She stared down at the steam coming up off her coffee. “I . . . A thump, maybe. Lighter.”
“A snap?” I asked.
She grimaced but nodded. “And I turned around, fast as I could. But he was gone. I didn’t see anything there, Harry.”
Thomas, ten feet away, could hear our quiet conversation as clearly as if he’d been sitting with us. “Something grabbed Raymond,” he said. “Something moving fast enough to cross her whole field of vision in a second or two. It didn’t stop moving when it took him. She probably heard his neck breaking from the whiplash.”
There wasn’t much to say to that. The whole concept was disturbing as hell.
Thomas glanced back at me and said, “It’s a great way to do a grab and snatch if you’re fast enough. My father showed me how it was done once.” His head whipped around toward the parking lot.
I felt myself tense. “What?”
“The streetlights just went out.”
I sat back in my chair, thinking furiously. “Only one reason to do that.”
“To blind us,” Thomas said. “Prevent anyone from reaching the vehicles.”
“Also keeps anyone outside from seeing what is happening here,” I said. “How are you guys using this place after hours?”
“Sarah’s uncle owns it,” Thomas said.
“Get her,” I said, rising to take up watching the door. “Hurry.”
Thomas brought her over to me a moment later. By the time he did, the larpers had become aware that something was wrong, and their awkwardly sinister role-playing dwindled into an uncertain silence as Sarah hurried over. Before, I had watched her and her scarlet bikini top in appraisal. Now I couldn’t help but think h
ow slender and vulnerable it made her neck look.
“What is it?” Sarah asked me.
“Trouble,” I said. “We may be in danger, and I need you to answer a few questions for me, right now.”
She opened her mouth and started to ask me something.
“First,” I said, interrupting her, “do you know how many security men are present at night?”
She blinked at me for a second. Then she said, “Uh, four before closing, two after. But the two who leave are usually here until midnight, doing maintenance and some of the cleaning.”
“Where?”
She shook her head. “The security office, in administration.”
“Right,” I said. “This place have a phone?”
“Of course.”
“Take me to it.”
She did, back in the little place’s tiny kitchen. I picked it up, got a dial tone, and slammed Murphy’s phone number across the keypad. If the bad guys, whoever or whatever they were, were afraid of attracting attention from the outside world, I might be able to avoid the entire situation by calling in lots of police cars and flashy lights.
The phone rang once, twice.
And then it went dead, along with the lights, the music playing on the speakers, and the constant blowing sigh of the heating system.
Several short, breathy screams came from the front of the bistro, and I heard Thomas shout for silence and call, “Harry?”
“The security office,” I said to Sarah. “Where is it?”
“Um. It’s at the far end of the mall from here.”
“Easy to find?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You have to go through the administrative hall and—”
I shook my head. “You can show me. Come on.” I stalked out to the front room of the bistro. “Thomas? Anything?”
All the larpers had gathered in close, herd instinct kicking in under the tension. Thomas stepped closer to me so that he could answer me under his breath.
“Nothing yet,” Thomas said. “But I saw something moving out there.”
I grunted. “Here’s the plan. Molly, Sarah, and I are going to go down to the security office and try to reach someone.”
“Bad idea,” Thomas said. “We need to get out of here.”
“We’re too vulnerable. They’re between us and the cars,” I said. “Whatever they are. We’ll never make it out all the way across the parking lot without getting caught.”
“Fine,” he said. “You fort up here and I’ll go.”
“No. Once we’re gone, you’ll try to get through to the cops on a cell phone. There’s not a prayer of getting one to work if Molly and I are anywhere nearby—not with both of us this nervous.”
He didn’t like that answer, but he couldn’t refute it. “All right,” he said, grimacing. “Watch your back.”
I nodded to him and raised my voice. “All right, everyone. I’m not sure exactly what is going on here, but I’m going to go find security. I want everyone to stay here until I get back and we’re sure it’s safe.”
There was a round of halfhearted protests at that, but Thomas quelled them with a look. It wasn’t an angry or threatening look. It was simply a steady gaze.
Everyone shut up.
I headed out with Molly and Sarah in tow, and as we stepped out of the bistro, there was an enormous crashing sound, and a car came flying sideways through the glass wall of the entranceway about eight feet off the ground. It hit the ground, broken glass and steel foaming around it like crashing surf, bounced with a shockingly loud crunch, and tumbled ponderously toward us, heralded by a rush of freezing air.
Molly was already moving, but Sarah only stood there staring incredulously as the car came toward us. I grabbed her around the waist and all but hauled her off her feet, dragging her away. I ran straight away from the oncoming missile, which was not the smartest way to go—but since a little perfume kiosk was blocking my path, it was the only way.
I was fast, and we got a little bit lucky. I pulled Sarah past the kiosk just as the car hit it. The vehicle’s momentum was almost gone by the time it hit, and the car crashed to a halt, a small wave of safety glass washing past our shoes. Sarah wobbled and nearly fell. I caught her and kept going. She started to scream or shout or ask a question—but I clapped my hand over her mouth and hissed, “Quiet!”
I didn’t stop until we were around the corner and the crashing racket was coming to a halt. Then I stopped with my back against the wall and got Sarah’s attention.
I didn’t speak. I raised one finger to my lips with as much physical emphasis as I could manage. Sarah, trembling violently, nodded at me. I turned to give the same signal to Molly, who looked pale but in control of herself. She nodded as well, and we turned and slipped away from that arm of the mall.
I listened as hard as I could, which was actually quite hard. It’s a talent I seem to have developed, maybe because I’m a wizard, and maybe just because some people can hear really well. It was difficult to make out anything at all, much less any kind of detail, but I was sure I heard one thing—footsteps, coming in the crushed door of the mall, crunching on broken glass and debris.
Something fast enough to snap a man’s neck with the whiplash of its passage and strong enough to throw that car through a wall of glass had just walked into the mall behind us. I figured it was a very, very good idea not to let it know we were there and sneaking away.
We got away with it, walking slowly and silently out through the mall, which yawned all around us, three levels of darkened stores, deserted shops, and closed metal grates and doors. I stopped a dozen shops later, after we’d gone past the central plaza of the mall and were far enough away for the space to swallow up quiet conversation.
“Oh my God,” Sarah whimpered, her voice a strangled little whisper. “Oh my God. What is happening? Is it terrorists?”
I probably would have had a more suave answer if she hadn’t been pressed up against my side, mostly naked from the hips up, warm and lithe and trembling. The adrenaline rush that had hit me when the car nearly smashed us caught up to me, and I suddenly found it difficult to keep from shivering, myself. I had a sudden, insanely intense need to rip off the strings on that red bikini top and kiss her, purely for the sake of how good it would feel. All things considered, though, it would have been less than appropriate. “Uh,” I mumbled, forcing myself to look back the way we’d come. “They’re . . . bad guys of some kind, yeah. Are you hurt?”
“No,” Sarah said.
“Molly?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” my apprentice answered.
“The security office,” I said.
Sarah stared at me for a second, her eyes intense. “But . . . but I don’t understand why—”
I put my hand firmly over her mouth. “Sarah,” I said, meeting her eyes for as long as I dared, “I’ve been in trouble before, and I know what I’m doing. I need you to trust me. All right?”
Her eyes widened for a second. She reached up to lightly touch my wrist, and I let her push my hand gently away from her mouth. She swallowed and nodded once.
“There’s no time. We have to find the security office now.”
“A-all right,” she said. “This way.”
She led us off and we followed her, creeping through the cavernous dimness of the unlit mall. Molly leaned in close to me to whisper. “Even if we get the security guards, what are they going to do against something that can do that?”
“They’ll have radios,” I whispered back. “Cell phones. They’ll know all the ways out. If we can’t call in help, they’ll give us the best shot of getting these people out of here in one—”
Lights began flickering on and off—not blinking, not starting up and shutting down in rhythm, but irregularly. First they came on over a section of the third floor for a few seconds. Then they went out. A few seconds later, it was a far section of the second floor. Then they went out. Then light shone from one of the distant wings for a moment and vanishe
d again. It was like watching a child experiment with the switches.
Then the PA system let out a crackle and a little squeal of feedback. It shut off again and came back on. “Testing,” said a dry, rasping voice over the speakers. “Testing one, two, three.”
Sarah froze in place, and then backed up warily, looking at me. I stepped up next to her, and she pressed in close to me, shivering.
“There,” said the voice. It was a horrible thing to listen to—like Linda Blair’s impression of a demon-possessed victim, only less melodious. “I’m sure you all can hear me now.”
And I’d heard such a voice before. “Oh, hell,” I breathed.
“This is Constance,” continued the voice. “Constance Bushnell. I’m sure you all remember me.”
I glanced at Molly, who shook her head. Sarah looked frightened and confused, but when she caught my look, she shook her head, too.
“You might also remember me,” she continued, “as Drulinda.” And then the voice started singing “Happy Birthday.” The tune wasn’t even vaguely close to the actual song, but the “Happy birthday to me” lyrics were unmistakable.
Sarah’s eyes had widened. “Drulinda?”
“Who the hell is Drulinda?” I asked.
Sarah shook her head. “One of our characters. But her player ran away from home or something.”
“And you didn’t recognize her actual name?”
Sarah gave me a slightly guilty glance. “Well, I never played with her much. She wasn’t really very, you know—popular.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Tell me whatever you can about her.”
She shook her head. “Um. About five four, sort of . . . plain. You know, not ugly or anything, but not really pretty. Maybe a little heavy.”
“Not that.” I sighed. “Tell me something important about her. People make fun of her?”
“Some did,” she said. “I never liked it, but ...”
“Crap.” I looked at Molly and said, “Code Carrie. We’re in trouble.”
The horrible, dusty song came to an end. “It’s been a year since I left you,” Drulinda’s voice said. “A year since I found what all you whining losers were looking for. And I decided to give myself a present.” There was a horrible pause, and then the voice said, “You. All of you.”