by Rob Cornell
He hugged her. “Thank you.”
She laughed. “Think the proper response is, ‘Love you, too.’”
“I love you, too.” He looked to Kate.
Her expression had softened some. “Don’t do this,” she whispered.
“I love you, Kate.”
“Then stay here.”
“I’ll be back.”
She turned away.
“Kate?”
“Go.”
Lockman ran a hand over Jessie’s head. “Take care of her.” He limped out the door, closed it behind him. The cab he had called pulled into the lot and parked in front of their motel. He couldn’t imagine what the fare to take him from here to the airport would cost. But he couldn’t leave the girls without a car.
He looked over his shoulder.
Jessie peered out at him through the window. She waved.
He hesitated. Why was he doing this? Leaving behind people he loved? His first real family.
Because he never would have made it this far without Teresa. If there was any chance of saving her, he owed it to her to try.
He waved to Jessie then limped to the cab, got in. One last look at the motel as the cab pulled away. Kate stood behind Jessie in the window, expression unreadable.
Please wait for me.
But he wasn’t sure she would.
Chapter Fifteen
Craig had been gone only about ten minutes when Jessie’s mom said, “Pack your things.”
Jessie had pulled a chair to the window and was staring out at the tall grass of the field across the road. The morning breeze swayed the grass while the sun glinted off the dew on the blades. She drew her attention away and turned to her mother. “Why?”
Mom had the suitcase they kept packed in the cabin’s cellar on the bed, and stuffed the few things she had removed back in. Hair brush, the blouse she wore yesterday, makeup bag. “Because we’re leaving.”
“To go where?”
“Somewhere away from here. Somewhere he can’t find us.”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
Mom slammed the suitcase shut and zipped it closed. “Don’t talk back to me.”
“We’re not going back to those days. Where you just yell at me and tell me what to do.”
“I’m your mother. You’ll do as I say.”
“Craig’s my dad. I’d rather listen to him.”
Mom thumped a fist down on her suitcase. “Stop it. Stop taking his side over mine. I was the one who was there your whole life. Not Craig. Me. By myself for most of it. He can’t come into our lives for a year and negate all that time he was gone.”
“I thought you were over that. You know why he left. You know all about the crazy stuff out there. But you still hold leaving against him?”
“I’m not discussing this any further.” She pulled the suitcase off the bed and lugged it to the door. There she dropped it and turned back to Jessie. “Get your things together now.”
“No.”
“Now!”
“You’re jealous. That’s what this is really about.”
“This isn’t about her. This is about Craig shirking his responsibility to us.”
“What about his responsibility to Teresa?”
Mom stomped her foot, hands fisted at her sides. “I said I’m not discussing this.”
Jessie leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “And I said I’m not leaving.”
“Are you going to pay for the room yourself? Because I’m checking out, and unless you’ve got money, I doubt they’ll let you stay here out of the goodness of their heart.”
“Man, you have turned into Mega-Bitch.”
Her mother raised a hand as if to slap her.
Jessie forced herself not to flinch. She lifted her chin and waited for the strike.
But Mom lowered her hand. “You didn’t see the cabin. It was destroyed. Craig was on the floor, unconscious. I thought he was dead.”
“But he wasn’t.”
“He should have been. He said so himself.”
Jessie tried picturing what her mother had seen. It didn’t take much. Last year Jessie had seen all kinds of destruction, and had survived her own close calls. She could imagine what it must have been like for her. “So you run away because you’re afraid of losing him?”
“Not running away. Moving on.”
“Then you’ll have to move on without me. Did you not hear what I said before he left? I love him. He cares about me. Gets me.”
“And I don’t?”
“You don’t even try.”
Mom flinched as if Jessie had slapped her. For a second she looked ready to cry. Her nostrils flared and the moment passed. “You’re right. I’m the worst mother that ever lived.”
“Are you listening to yourself?”
“Do I sound a little irrational? I can’t imagine why. Maybe it has something to do with the van parked in the living room of our home. Or the bullet holes and broken glass. Or the fact that we have to have a god damned escape tunnel and lug around rifles like some dysfunctional militia.”
Okay, so she finally made a good point. Didn’t change the facts. Like Mom had said to her at school—they were a part of this dark world now, like it or not. “Leaving Craig won’t change anything.”
“He’s dangerous.”
“But you love him.”
“Do I?”
Jessie couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Are you serious?”
“Get your things, or we’ll leave them here.” Mom grabbed Jessie’s arm and tried to pull her to her feet.
Jessie yanked free and toppled backward in her chair. The back of her head smacked against the floor. Even though the floor was carpeted, she saw stars.
“Jess? Oh god.” Mom came around and tried to help Jessie up.
Jessie shook her off. “Get away from me.”
“It was an accident.”
Jessie rolled over and got to her feet. She stared at her mother, vision blurred by tears. Her face felt hot. The stale air in the room turned her stomach. It was their old life all over again, only worse. Mom shouting commands, never listening. After all they had been through, how could she go back to that?
She had nothing more to say. If she tried to talk she knew she would start crying and blubbering. Not going to happen. She pushed past Mom and strode for the door.
“Where are you going?”
Jessie stopped, tried to put together a sentence. Her constricting throat wouldn’t have let her speak anyway. She threw open the door and walked out. Kept walking even while her mother called after her. And when she heard Mom coming up behind her, she ran.
Chapter Sixteen
Lockman had fallen asleep the moment he took his seat on the plane, and woke up when the tires hit the runway at Detroit Metro Airport shortly after noon. While on assignment, sleep when you can, because you never know when you’ll get the chance. Only he wasn’t on an assignment. It felt like it, though. His heart had even taken on a faster, yet steady, rhythm. Each breath tasted different. His vision seemed twice as clear.
Instincts from years of training taking over, like a programmed machine.
He let most of the passengers file out of the plane before collecting his carry-on and exiting himself. He went straight to the rental desk and used the credentials he had made for his life with Kate and Jessie in Northern Illinois. They offered a Ford Focus. He said that would suit him fine.
Less than an hour later he was on his way downtown.
He arrived at the rundown apartment building around two-thirty. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since the bagel and coffee he bought at the airport before his flight. The short trip from O’Hare to Detroit Metro didn’t warrant an in-flight meal. Not even a bag of pretzels. Airlines had gotten cheap these days.
Car locked, he crossed the street and went inside the apartment building, took the stairs to the sixth floor. The hallway on this floor smelled like a fusion of appl
es and burnt dog hair. Lockman wrinkled his nose and tried not to imagine what could possibly make a stench like that. He reached apartment sixty-six where some joker had drawn a third six after the tarnished numbers on the door. He knocked. Only had to wait a couple seconds before Eliza answered the door.
“You again?” she asked, peering at him through her windowpane glasses that magnified her eyes. She stood about four foot and a few inches and her hips had to be at least half that wide. She still sported the page-boy hair cut. She still looked like a gnome. But she was definitely human.
“Me again.”
“Where’s your girl?”
“Somewhere else.”
She nodded. “Good idea.”
“Is he here?”
“What? You think he’s hanging out at the mall?” She opened the door wide. “Come in.”
Lockman stepped into the apartment and found Marty seated on his couch watching the NBA playoffs. He wore a Pistons jersey, even though they weren’t playing. The tank exposed his green and muscled arms. He held a mug about the size of a paint bucket filled with dark beer. He was grunting as one of the players on screen streaked toward the basket and then dunked the ball.
“Aw, for the love of fuck” His voice rattled the framed Monet and Picasso prints on the walls.
“As couth as usual, Marty.”
The ogre turned around and smiled at Lockman. “Well shit me twice. Craig Lockman returns. You seriously need more gear?”
“I didn’t come here about gear.”
His smile drooped. He set his massive mug on the coffee table and stood to his full seven feet. “Eliza, you want to—”
“We need some groceries anyway. Do your thing.” She grabbed a set of keys and was out the door.
Lockman raised on eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”
“You never had a fight with a woman?”
He thought of Kate. Which made him wonder how she was doing. “I’ve had my share.”
“Well, if you ever get your ass married, they’re gonna seem like mild disagreements in comparison.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Marty flicked the television off with a remote. “You didn’t come here for marriage counseling. What’s the deal?”
“Teresa Stevenson.”
His face stayed straight. “Name sounds familiar.”
“Don’t fuck with me. You know exactly who she is. She’s got a trunk full of Marty.”
“I’m not the only gunrunner to the netherworld, you know.”
“Are you saying it’s not your stuff?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
Lockman couldn’t blame the ogre for his reticence. Supernaturals didn’t last long on the mortal plane if they didn’t keep their business close to the chest. But Lockman didn’t have time to dance. “A group of vamps took her. I need you to be straight with me.”
His red eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean, ‘took her?’ Vamps don’t take. They eat.”
“This crew had training. They reminded me a lot of Dolan’s vampires.”
“Only Dolan is history.”
“You think someone could have taken over for his cause?”
“I haven’t heard anything like that. Guess it’s possible. But I don’t think he had any followers that loyal. Least not any that survived your soiree.”
Lockman shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled over to one of the Monet prints. “Starry Night.” It looked like a perfect night for vampires. “When did you see Teresa last?”
“I don’t know that I’ve seen her at all.”
Lockman spun around and charged the ogre, shoved him hard in the chest. The impact did little more than make a slapping sound and turn Marty’s green face a darker shade.
The ogre growled from the back of his throat. He reached for Lockman’s throat with a hand the size of a dinner plate. Stopped about six inches away. His jaw tightened. He shook as if someone had Tazed him, and didn’t stop until he dropped his arm.
“You’re a real prick, Lockman. Picking on a neutered ogre.”
“Chip’s still working then?”
“Makes it real hard to please my lady with the rough stuff.”
“I’m sure she appreciates that you can’t tear her arms out of their sockets.”
Marty’s face darkened another shade. “I’d never hurt her.”
“Not with the chip in your head.”
“Chip or not.”
“Whatever you say, buddy.” He smoothed out Marty’s jersey, patted him on the arm. “When did you see her last?”
“You can’t save her.”
The back of Lockman’s neck prickled. “Something you want to tell me, Marty?”
“Times are changing. Things aren’t like they used to be back in your Agency days.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Vamps are getting organized.”
“Bullshit. The closest they come to organized is when they hunt in packs. They have no leadership unless some mortal tames them.”
Marty shook his head. “You think you’ve seen every vampire there is to see?”
“I’ve seen enough.”
Marty pointed at Lockman’s chest with a sausage-sized finger. “That kind of stupid is gonna get you killed.”
“If you know what’s happened to Teresa, you need to tell me.”
The ogre shook his head and picked up his beer. He drank deep, almost draining the mug completely, then set the mug down and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “I don’t know what happened to her. She came to see me for some equipment about a week ago. Said it had something to do with her sister.”
“Her sister was taken by vamps, too.”
“There you go saying ‘taken’ again.”
Since Marty had finally leveled with him, Lockman gave him the full rundown about Teresa coming to him for help and the attack on the cabin. When he had finished, Marty rocked his mug back and forth.
“I need a refill. You want something?”
“Water.”
“I can smell the hungry on you. You want to eat?”
“You’re a hard ogre to read, Marty. From hostility to hospitality.”
“You got that wrong, brother.” He waved his big finger. “I like you, Lockman. No matter how much you hate and distrust me. But I have to watch my back. I don’t have the luxury of belonging to this world.”
“I don’t hate you. I just know what you are.”
Marty raised his eyebrows. “And I know what you are. Better than you know yourself.”
Marty fed him a homemade gyro with pita chips. When the ogre bragged that the gyro had lamb from the best butcher in Detroit, Lockman almost spit out what was in his mouth. Images of a lamb with its throat cut and gushing blood poured into his mind. He squeezed the thought away and forced himself to eat the rest of his meal. Eat when you can, even if you have to stuff your mouth full of grubs. Lockman could hear Creed’s voice as clear as if he stood in Marty’s kitchen with them. He hadn’t thought about the old man much since last summer’s events. Not ready to deal with the loss of his mentor. Which, considering the lies that mentor had told him, seemed foolish. Maybe it wasn’t Creed himself that Lockman missed. Maybe it was the idea of Creed—the only true father figure Lockman had in his life.
Gabriel, on the other hand…
He pushed those thoughts away. No need to go there. Gabriel, for all intents and purposes, was dead and buried with the artifact that held his memories back behind the cabin in Illinois. As far as the artifact went, he could retrieve it at some other time if he needed to. Or he could leave it there, lost forever.
“I can see the smoke.”
Lockman looked up from his empty plate.
Marty studied him across the table, his hands folded and resting on his barrel of a belly. “You thinking about Gabriel?”
A bolt of cold shot up Lockman’s spine. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You forget. I’m a shaman no
w. And I’m good. Real good.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Gabriel Dolan. Brother of Otto Dolan.”
“So what?”
Marty unfolded his hands and leaned his elbows on the table. His eyes grew intense, the pupils dilated wide. “The events are in motion. I’ve seen what’s to come.”
“Fortune telling? Really? Never been a very reliable practice, even with the best mojo.”
“Not for mortals, perhaps. But the shaman have an honored place among my people. Even the warriors fear them.”
Lockman pushed his plate aside. “Is that it? You’re trying to scare me?”
“A little fear wouldn’t hurt. But I know you well enough that you won’t believe a word I say.”
“Then why waste your breath?”
The ogre smiled, showing teeth near as thick as dice. “This is bigger than you. Yet you play an important role.”
“Come on, Marty. Quit wasting my time. You said you had an address for me.”
Marty slapped the table. “Right to business then. So much for our nice meal. I see you hated the lamb.”
“I didn’t—”
“You can’t bullshit a shaman, brother.” He stood and retrieved a pen and pad of paper from a drawer. The pen looked like a sewing needle in his hand. He sat back down and scribbled on the pad, tore the top sheet off, and handed it to Lockman.
Lockman took the paper. Marty’s penmanship was surprisingly neat. New Orleans address. “What’s this?”
“Teresa rented an apartment down there to launch her search for her sister from. She told me about some pretty disturbing things going on around the Quarter.”
“Let me guess. Organized vampires.”
“And a lot of fresh turns.”
Lockman chewed on his lip. “She told me about that, too. I think she was hoping her sister might be one of them.”
“Strange thing to hope.”
“She’s desperate. She wants to see her sister up and walking, not as a blood-drained meal tossed in some alley.”