“I know how you feel,” Lannes said.
She stared at him, startled. “Did you hear my thoughts that time?”
“No.” He looked uncomfortable. “Just your emotions.”
Knuckles rapped against her window and she flinched. A man stood on the other side of the door, dressed in a tight black shirt and black cargo pants. His skin was smooth and brown, and his green eyes were sharp with intelligence, much like the rest of his face, which resembled stone more than flesh.
A dangerous man, she thought, and opened her door, forcing him to step back—which he did, grudgingly. No shoes on his feet. She had noticed that last night, as well.
Behind him, leaning against the Humvee, was the tattooed man. Golden eyes glimmered, the sight of which stirred something deep inside her.
Koni, she remembered him being called. He stared at her with unnerving intensity, his mouth turned down in a frown.
“What?” she asked sharply. Her feet hurt, but her shoulder was better.
His golden eyes narrowed. “Nothing.”
Lannes walked around the Impala to stand beside her. His craggy face looked grim, as did his eyes, and his invisible wings brushed against her arm like the whisper of a breeze. The belt he had bound them with was probably still in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart in Martinsville.
“Nice illusion,” said the man in black, who then settled his gaze on Lethe. “You have a talent for making people dead.”
“It’s been a busy couple days,” she replied coldly.
Lannes leaned forward, looming over the other man. “Are you here to help, or are we going to have a problem?”
“Rictor always has problems,” said Koni, still leaning against the Humvee. “And I’m not much better. You’re stuck with the assholes of the group, I’m afraid.”
Lannes appeared less than pleased. “I suppose my brother filled you in?”
“Second-hand knowledge is shit,” said the green-eyed man. Rictor, Lethe reminded herself. She found him familiar, and could not put her finger on why, which was maddening.
Rictor added, “We need to talk. Just us.”
Just us. Lethe was obviously not included, a certainty that intensified when she glanced at Koni and found him staring at her dead on. Golden eyes. Suspicious eyes.
Trust, she thought. It always came down to trust. She had not trusted Lannes when she first met him, and now it was her turn to be on the receiving end of someone’s suspicion.
Lannes brushed up against her arm, creating a link between them. They have secrets to keep, he whispered inside her mind. All of us do.
And I can rely on them? Lethe replied, falling easily into their mental connection. It had not surprised her as much as it should have; it was as though this was something she knew, like those random aberrant facts crowded in her brain. Do you trust them?
He never answered. Above their heads, a murder of crows swooped down from the trees, cawing raucously. Koni gave them a sharp look, and his eyes seemed to glow for the barest instant. Or maybe that was the sun, his irises catching that light. It sent shivers down her back, either way.
Lethe limped around the men and started strolling across the parking lot to the hotel entrance. A moment later, she heard three sets of footsteps behind her.
“Never mind following me,” she called back, “since you obviously have things to discuss.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lannes muttered, easily catching up with her. She turned, hobbling backward to study Rictor and Koni openly.
“So,” she said slowly, “you’re…detectives.”
“I suppose,” Koni replied. “Though you could try not to say it like you’re vomiting in your mouth.”
“Why not?” Rictor muttered, glancing at the tree line with disgust. “This is humiliating.”
Lannes and Lethe stopped walking. Koni gave the green-eyed man a dirty look, but the crows flying overhead began screaming again, and a similar expression of resigned dread passed over his tanned face. Lethe thought that the two men were very weird.
“Have you heard anything from Charlie about Etta Bredow and her brother?” Lannes asked them. “How about this Simon?”
“Nothing,” Rictor said, still staring at the trees.
Lethe frowned. “Are you an investigator or not?”
“Rictor is what he is,” Koni replied, giving his companion another hard look. “I suppose that’s true of all of us.”
There was something in his tone, something in the way he suddenly looked at her, that made Lethe narrow her eyes. “Why do I get the sense that you know me?”
“I don’t know,” Koni said. “That would be impossible, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, “seeing as how I can’t remember a goddamn thing.”
“Enough,” Lannes rumbled, his gaze roving between the two men his brother had sent. “We’re here to check things out. Let’s stick with that plan.”
Stick with a plan. Easier said than done. Especially as Lethe had no idea what she was looking for. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and the air smelled good and green, the cold wind on her face so sweet she wanted to close her eyes. It was good to be alive.
She noted Koni buttoning his denim shirt as they walked inside the hotel. All of them, except Lannes, appeared slightly rough and bedraggled. She certainly felt like something that had been dragged under a car, which was closer to the truth than she was entirely comfortable with.
Inside was another mystery of architecture: a passage from shadows and dark wood into a room that felt like it was made of air and light, a vast expanse echoing with every footstep and whisper. Above them, the dome. It was freestanding, floating, with nothing but arched and delicate steel girders holding everything in place. Immense glass panels allowed a cool radiance into the room that seemed to make everything, from people to furniture, appear impossibly delicate.
The walls rose six stories high and curved around the interior in a perfect circle lined by Grecian pillars. Dark windows filled the spaces in between, gazing inward like hundreds of dark eyes. A beautiful space—perhaps pretentious, certainly grand. Wild beyond any human purpose except, Lethe supposed, to prove that such a thing was possible.
She walked several steps away and swiped a brochure left on one of the chairs. She thumbed through it and shook her head. “Larger than the Pantheon and Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome. Built in 1902. Biggest freestanding dome in the world until 1965.”
“So, why are we here?” Lannes murmured. Rictor and Koni stood behind him, scanning the small groups of people ranged across the massive atrium. Cameras flashed and some children laughed, chasing each other.
Children. Laughing.
Dizziness cut through Lethe, and for a moment her vision blurred, windows and people running together like pieces of a black web. At first she thought her eyes were dry, or that perhaps she was just tired, but she glanced at Lannes and he was clear as crystal—as were Rictor and Koni, though their skin seemed to shimmer.
Her neck ached. Her head felt heavy, tired.
This is where it began, whispered a voice inside her mind, and everything around her shifted as if a camera were panning sideways, fast. Lethe staggered…and the world changed. Like a snap.
She found herself alone beneath the heart of the dome, standing in the center of the cavernous room. Everyone was gone. Even Lannes. The air was dark. It must have been night. She turned, searching for anything familiar, but all she saw was empty floor and hundreds of black windows, which made her skin crawl. As though behind all that glass were eyes, staring.
Lethe heard uneasy laughter. Children. She tried to turn, but her feet refused to budge. Terror clawed up her throat. She felt a presence bearing down on her body, fat as a slug, and again the children squealed with delight.
They thought it was a game, whispered the voice. They told my daughter it was a game, but it wasn’t.
The laughter of the children grew stronger, closer, and those dark windows shimm
ered as though made of water. She heard the slow shuffle of something immense directly behind her shoulder. Hot breath puffed against her neck, followed by the scent of blood, loose bowels.
The children began chanting—
—and Lethe woke up. She was stretched on a cold hard floor. It was day instead of night. Lannes crouched over her, holding her face between his hands. His eyes were impossibly grave. Nausea crawled up her throat, her nostrils still burning with that awful scent. Her ears rang. Lannes did not say a word.
“What happened?” she croaked, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Her throat hurt, her nose ran. Everything felt raw.
Lannes trailed his knuckle across her cheek. “You fell unconscious.”
Lethe dragged in a deep breath. “How long?”
“Less than a minute.”
Voices clamored, and she realized there was a crowd. The giant bulk of Lannes’ body blocked much of it, and Rictor and Koni stood on her other side, imposing figures, keeping people back.
“Don’t mind everyone,” Lannes murmured, his hand smoothing back her hair, his touch so gentle that she hardly felt it. “You’re okay now. You’re fine.”
She heard children laughing, but couldn’t tell if it was real or an echo from the darkness. It was chilling either way. She tried to sit up, but Lannes scooped her into his arms. Faces passed in a blur, and then she was set down again, on a long couch.
“Incoming,” Rictor murmured, somewhere on her right. She looked up and saw a very young woman in a dark suit running toward them. She carried a walkie-talkie, and her brown hair, pulled back into a sensible ponytail, bounced furiously.
“I’m fine,” Lethe said before the woman reached her, and then louder, “I’m fine, really. Blood sugar. Happens sometimes.”
The walkie-talkie crackled, and the woman frowned with a concern that seemed genuine and very sweet. “Are you certain? We’ve already called an ambulance—”
“Cancel it,” Lethe said firmly, lying so easily, with such conviction, she felt as though another part of her was suddenly a stranger, yet again. “Really. I should have snacked earlier.”
The young woman hesitated. “Are you certain? This happened last time, ma’am.”
Cold rushed down Lethe’s spine. “Last time? I was here before?”
The woman frowned, confusion—or unease—filling her eyes. “A week ago, I think. You weren’t a guest here. Just…passing through. I remember your face, because of what happened. You collapsed.”
“Did she leave a name?” Lannes asked.
“No,” replied the woman, glancing from him to Rictor and Koni. A faint flush rose in her cheeks. “You woke up and walked out before anyone could get a good look at you.”
Koni flashed the hotel employee a surprisingly roguish grin. “Don’t worry,” he said with a conspiratorial shrug of his shoulder, “she’s fine. Practically has to keep a candy bar in her mouth all the time, but hey. Not enough to call an ambulance on.”
The woman smiled hesitantly, though she was polite enough to sober up when she looked again at Lethe. “If you’re really fine…”
“I am,” Lethe said.
The hotel employee nodded, concern still in her eyes. “If you need anything, let us know. And…um…thank you for coming back to visit.”
Lethe forced herself to smile. Koni slid in front of her and guided the slender young woman away, walking with her across the atrium. She never looked back. He had her entire attention.
“Well,” Lannes said. Rictor grunted. Lethe wanted to put her head between her knees and practice breathing.
“I was here,” she told the two men. “Oh, my God.”
This is where it began, she heard inside her head, but it was only an echo. She grabbed Lannes’ hand. “Did you feel her inside me? Is she still awake?”
Lannes’ expression turned profoundly solemn. “I felt her. But she’s quiet now.”
Quiet now. No way to know how long that would last. Lethe felt as though she were living on borrowed time. Or that everything she was—what little had been left to her—would be swallowed by the creature living in the cave of her mind; like a dragon, jaws straining over her heart.
“She showed me something,” Lethe told the two men. “It was night. I heard children laughing, and there was this…thing…behind me. Breathing down my neck. It was terrifying.”
Rictor folded his arms over his chest. “Do you trust what you saw? Could it have been manipulated?”
“It felt real. But I’m no expert.”
“Expert enough,” he said, with a dark humor in his voice that again made her uneasy. Lannes gave the green-eyed man a hard frown, and for a moment Lethe’s vision blurred again and his body wavered. She thought she saw wings folded against his back, hanging from him like a cloak.
Then, nothing. She rubbed her eyes and looked at him again. His features seemed craggier than before. Less perfect, but no less handsome.
Rictor said, “Are we staying here?”
“At least one night,” Lannes said, and the other man walked away without a word, following Koni, who had only just reached the other side of the atrium, the hotel employee still at his side.
“This is where it began,” Lethe whispered, terrified. “That’s what she said.”
“You weren’t a guest,” Lannes said thoughtfully. “I wonder why you were here?”
“Because I’m crazy,” muttered Lethe, needing to hear those words, though saying them felt more like a force of habit than actual belief. She wondered if part of her would be more content as an insane person. At least that would be a reason for what was going on. A real reason. More real than mind control or men with wings. More real than murder and visions that terrified the heck out of her.
Lannes gave her a long steady look. “You’re not crazy. You’ve been hurt. In impossible ways.” He began to lean in, then stopped, jaw tight, something terrible moving through his eyes. “You scared me. I was afraid you weren’t going to wake up.”
She stopped breathing for a moment then centered herself, holding his gaze—allowing herself to sink deep into the roar of her aching heart. So deep, so hungry. Her heart was hungry. And there were so many reasons not to trust that, no matter how much she wanted to. Words slipped from her mouth; they were nonsensical, humiliating.
“I don’t trust myself,” she whispered, and knew instantly he understood what she meant, because she could see it in his eyes, which grew haunted and tense and echoed the loneliness driving a knife through her.
“We’re both vulnerable,” he said quietly. “And here we are, forced together. I don’t trust myself, either.”
Lethe reached for his large sinewy hand, which felt strong and hard but curled ever so carefully around her own. “I like this,” she told him, staring at their joined hands. “I don’t know what you are underneath your mask, but I like this. And I like you. That, I trust.”
“You might not,” he murmured. “You might change your mind if you saw me as I am.”
She shoved at his shoulder gently, but only because she wanted to touch the warm skin she knew existed beneath the illusion of his shirt. She remembered the hard silk of his body against her hands, the shocking desire she had felt when he dragged her into his lap. Sitting on the ground in a Wal-Mart parking lot, and there had been things she wanted to do in that moment that still taunted her.
“If you don’t let me see,” she told him, “neither of us will ever know.”
He pulled away. “It’s not that easy.”
No, she thought, considering her own situation. I suppose it isn’t.
They walked across the atrium. Her feet still hurt, and she limped. Lannes took her hand, squeezing gently. Her soles tingled. She shouldn’t have been startled, but she was, and had to stop walking as the skin of her feet began crawling, the muscles twitching. The pain eased, though, as did the other sensations of discomfort.
Lannes let out a slow breath, swaying slightly. Lethe touched his chest, but only bri
efly, afraid someone would notice how her fingertips faded into the illusion.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” he said, but inside her mind she felt a pulse, slow and heavy, and she knew it was him.
“You’re exhausted,” she whispered, and even though he shook his head in disagreement, there was no hiding the shadows in his eyes. She had no idea how to help him, though. Other than a bed and quiet. Both of which had been in short supply since she had met him.
To her left, Lethe saw a crowd gathered. A tour group. An old man was giving them a lecture. They stood in front of a massive fireplace that must have been at least twenty feet wide and was certainly tall enough to stand in.
She stopped walking, staring at it. Lannes said, “What?”
“I don’t know.” But after a brief hesitation, she began a slow approach, studying the fireplace—studying herself as well, trying to understand why it bothered her so.
Because you were here before, she told herself. Even if you don’t remember.
The fireplace was rather odd looking compared to the rest of the building interior, decorated in stone with a colorful mural that was almost clumsy, even tacky, compared to the rest of the atrium. It was disturbing, too, in ways that Lethe could not explain.
The mural’s design should have been innocent: a depiction of a river and a tree heavy with wisteria or grapes, a green meadow just behind its branches. But in the far-right corner, perched on a rock, a little man had been painted. He was dressed entirely in red, with a long beard and small pointed cap. The tips of his ears were sharp, and he had a crazed look in his eyes.
“That’s…weird,” Lannes said.
“Yeah,” Lethe agreed, grateful for a distraction. “Jesus.”
A strange look passed over his face. “Looks like a…a…”
“Damn gnome,” said a rough voice behind them. Rictor. Koni stood at his side, head tilted as he stared at the fireplace.
“A gnome,” Lannes said heavily. “As in, from Argentina?”
“Argentina, my ass,” Rictor replied. “They’ll live anywhere you find bat caves. Dirty little bastards.”
Lethe stared. “Um. Dare I ask?”
The Wild Road Page 17