by Nina Berry
Frances was still barking, aiming her displeasure first at me, then at Lazar.
“Maybe you should go out and see what she’s barking at, honey,” a woman inside Frances’s house said.
Behind me, Lazar had his own hands on the top of the fence, about to hoist himself over.
“Oh, hey,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Look out for the . . .”
Lazar, unable to hear me over the sharp woofs, pushed himself up and over the fence in one smooth move. Frances sprang toward the top of her own fence, snapping at him, her teeth the only white thing about her.
Startled by her leap, Lazar jerked away, mid-jump, in time to avoid a bite. But he caught his knee on the top of the fence and tumbled to the hard cement. He twisted as he fell, curling to cushion the blow, and rolled, as I had. Right toward the swimming pool.
I grabbed for him, getting hold of the sleeve of his brown jacket. But his momentum was too great. He rolled faster than I had and teetered on the edge of the pool as I scrabbled to catch his wrist. Instead, the whole jacket slid off in my hand. Lazar splashed into the pool with a startled cry, abruptly cut off by a gurgle.
I watched the ripples in the water, ready to jump in if he didn’t come up for some reason. But he bobbed to the surface, spluttering quietly, and then stood up in the shallow water, dark golden hair in whorls on his forehead, his T-shirt clinging to his shoulders and abs.
I held up his last piece of dry clothing. “It was you or the jacket.”
A stray ray of starlight caught a glint in his eye; then he burst into laughter.
I convulsed, too, hand over my mouth to keep the sound low, not that anyone would have heard us over the renewed frenzy of barking.
Lazar’s white teeth flashed. He held a finger to his lips. “Ssh! Frances might hear you!”
I giggled as he hoisted himself, dripping, out of the pool.
“What the hell is happening over there?”
I jumped, hand to my heart. Lazar let loose another laugh as I realized it was London talking through the receiver in our ears.
“Can you hear us from all the way over there?” I asked, making sure my voice was low. Lazar and I rounded the edge of the dark pool, moving toward the back corner of the fence, where we could jump kitty-corner into the yard of 1491. No lights had come on in any of the houses around us. In the fifth house, the back door squeaked open and Frances’s owner shushed her, announcing to his wife there was no one in the backyard.
“No,” said London. “I heard you gurgling or something through the receiver. I thought someone was choking you.”
Lazar and I exchanged a grin. “We’re fine.”
We stopped at the back fence as Lazar did a quick check of the gun in his shoulder holster, and the other tools—lock pick, flashlight, silver and brass knuckles—at his belt. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, all Tribunal guns can fire if they get wet. Thanks.” He took the jacket from me and shrugged it on so the gun was covered. Then he held out his cupped hands. “Another boost?”
“Thanks.” I put my foot in his hand, eyeing the landscape behind us—Frances’s owner had taken her inside—and then scanned ahead. “No swimming pool,” I told him.
He breathed a laugh. “Hallelujah.”
We made it over that fence without a problem. “We’re in position,” I said quietly into my headset.
“No movement,” London said.
“Waiting for lights to go out.” Going first because I had the best night vision, I led Lazar across the dying grass of the back lawn, scanning the big curtained windows for any sign of Ximon. Rats could get in just about anywhere, so we’d sent November in first to chew through the phone lines and disable any kind of alarm system she found. When the lights went out, we’d know she’d succeeded.
Lazar and I flattened ourselves against the outer wall of the house, close to the back door. I looked up, but didn’t see Arnaldo. He was probably perched on the roof, keeping his sharp eyes peeled for anything suspicious.
Something rustled in the grass. Lazar drew his pistol out in one smooth move, but I’d heard a familiar chitter and said, “Wait!”
It was November, her fur damp from sprinkler-wet grass. She stood up on her hind legs, her brown, pod-shaped body almost a foot tall and prattled at me in a rush of squeaks and hisses.
I squatted down. “You know I can’t understand anything you’re saying.” I kept my voice low.
She exhaled in frustration, then made a sort of firework motion with one paw, then sliced another claw across her throat in a cutting motion. “Lights, cut?” I asked. “No, the lights are still on. Oh!” As she danced with aggravation, I realized what she was trying to convey. “You can’t cut off the lights?”
She nodded furiously.
“What about the phones?”
She shook her head.
“So you probably have no idea if there’s a burglar alarm.”
She nodded, and then shook her head, and I realized my question had no easy yes or no answer. Her whiskers curled and she squealed, shaking her paws at me. I reached over to pet her reassuringly on the top of her head. Disgusted, she gave me a warning bite that didn’t break the skin.
“They’ve rat-proofed the house,” I said into my headset, glancing up at Lazar. “Which means we definitely have the right place. But we can’t cut off phone or lights.”
“I vote we go in anyway,” London said.
I heard a distant male voice through the microphone. Caleb. “This is a bad idea.”
I ignored him and turned to November. “I agree, London.” I turned to November. “Can you climb up and tell Arnaldo we’re going in?”
The rat put her pink paws on her round hips and shook her head at me.
“I know. He doesn’t speak rat either. Just mime something, like kicking a door in.”
With a chirp that sounded a lot like an angry “Fine!” November scurried to the wall and zoomed up its vertical surface.
“Just pick the lock, Caleb,” London said tersely over the headset.
“Let us know when you’re ready,” I said to her and reached for the scabbard hidden under my coat to pull out the Shadow Blade. As always, it felt cool and calming in my hand. Its blade was so black it seemed to absorb the light around it, and the wavering edge wasn’t sharp, but evanesced into smoke. “Be ready to move in fast.”
“Yeah, they’ll probably hear us coming.” Lazar reached into a pocket and started screwing a silencer onto his pistol. “And to keep this from creaking . . .” He reached into a pocket, pulled out a tiny bottle and sprayed the hinges of the screen door.
“Clever.” I kept forgetting how Lazar had broken into my own house very successfully, more than once. He knew more about this sort of operation than I did.
“Caleb’s got the lock,” London said into my ear.
I nodded to Lazar. He swung the screen door open noiselessly and pointed his silenced gun at the sky.
I slid the Shadow Blade between the wooden door and the lintel, and cut down. As soon as it hit the metal bolt, the blade sharpened, biting through it with what almost felt like relish.
I put my hand on the doorknob. “London, count down. On three.”
“One . . .” London said. “Two. Three.”
I shoved the door open and rolled in. Judging by the sounds coming from the opposite side of the house, London was doing the same. I was in an open dining area, empty of furniture. The kitchen looked like an army of teenage boys had been there. Dishes half-filled with unidentifiable food lay piled in the sink, chairs were knocked over or pushed away from the small table there. Bottles, cans, and plastic bags lay strewn on the dirty floor.
Lazar pegged the screen door open while I sheathed the blade and stood still, listening. Lazar paused at the sight of the filthy kitchen, brows coming together in puzzlement. It certainly wasn’t typical of the very anal-retentive Ximon and his Tribunal.
Footsteps moved cautiously near the front of the house. Caleb and London. �
�Nobody in the kitchen,” I said to London.
The ceiling creaked. I pointed up at it for Lazar.
“Nobody in the living room,” London whispered through my earpiece, although I also heard her voice through the walls. My hearing was ridiculously sharp.
Lazar opened the door out of the dining area and found the stairs up and another door. London and Caleb stood silhouetted at the other end of the hall.
Lazar started up the stairs, gun ready, and then turned and mouthed, “Check the basement,” at me, pointing at the door in the hallway.
I nodded, but I was worried. London stalked over, icy blue eyes anxious. Caleb moved up behind her, keeping an eye over his shoulder.
Or is he trying not to look at me?
Me, me, me. He’d said not everything was about me. I needed to focus on what was important.
“This is weird,” London said in a voice only we could hear. “No guards in the kitchen or the living room?”
“I know,” I said in a similar tone. “One set of footsteps upstairs? No traps?”
“Then get ready for something big in the basement,” Caleb said, using his whisper that wasn’t really a whisper.
I nodded, but it still made no sense. Just last night we’d seen Ximon attacking in full force, with multiple trucks, men, and a helicopter. Where were they all now? Was this some new trap?
A swish of wind and the heavy flapping of wings, and Arnaldo swooped into the dining room through the open door, carrying something large, wiggling, and brown in one claw. He curved to land on the filthy kitchen table, and set his burden down there.
November shook herself and chittered at him furiously, lifting one dainty paw out of what looked like a bowl of congealed oatmeal to wipe it on the bird’s brown chest feathers. Arnaldo pecked at her paw, and she jerked it back.
“Arnaldo.” The eagle’s piercing gaze turned to me as I said his name. “If you could help Lazar upstairs . . . I heard one person up there at least.”
He nodded and pushed off the table. With one sweep of his wings, he was across the room, curving through the doorway, turning sideways to get through and up the stairs.
I walked over and laid my hand out like a platform to November. She hesitated, looking down at my fingers. “I know it’s not like it was,” I said. “But I’d be honored if you’d catch a ride on my shoulder for now. We’re heading into the basement to see what’s down there.”
She wiggled her whiskers at me, considering. Her favorite place to be when she was in rat form had been on Siku’s broad grizzly bear back, or sometimes on top of his narrow head. She hadn’t hopped on anyone for a ride since he’d died.
She cheeped softly once and clambered onto my hand. Her little claws tickled through my sleeve as she scrambled from there up my arm to sit on my shoulder.
“Ready?” Caleb said in his non-whisper. “It’s not locked.”
“This is so bizarre,” said London. “But let’s go.”
Caleb swung the door open. Wooden stairs led down to a cement floor lit by a faint glow coming from the left. Not waiting for me, Caleb started down as quietly as he could, though the stairs creaked under his weight. London was about to follow when his head swiveled to the left and he stopped dead.
“Hello, son.”
Ximon’s voice echoed through the basement.
Caleb didn’t reply. His dark eyes were darting all over the portion of the room I couldn’t see. London stood frozen in front of me.
“What are you doing?” Caleb sounded a little unnerved.
“I could ask you the same question,” Ximon said. “I don’t recall inviting you for a visit.”
“Why are you in there?” Caleb’s voice held an edge.
Ximon sighed. It sounded weary. “Trying to keep you, and myself, and the world safe until our meeting tonight.”
I sidled past London a few steps, ducking my head to look. November’s claws cut through the stuff of my coat to dig tensely into my skin.
The basement opened up to the left, bare cement floor and walls illuminated by a single bare bulb dangling from a cord in the ceiling. There were shelves on the back wall covered with rope and boxes, but none of that mattered. Ximon was standing in the middle of a large silver cage, shiny as a new quarter, and big enough for a man to pace three steps in any direction.
That he was in a cage was shocking enough. But Ximon also looked like a different man from the one who had kidnapped Amaris. He’d always been tall, vigorous, and handsome. Even after the lightning strike that sickened him, he’d radiated power and will. But the man before me looked like a shrunken Ximon in old age makeup. The hints of encroaching age and weariness I’d taken for acting on the Skype call yesterday were obvious in the light of the bare bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling. His once-tan skin hung pale and loose, his collarbone protruding under his white turtleneck, which was smeared with dust. His white pants were belted tight to keep them up. His powerful hands were skeletal, patterned with large purple veins.
His head of thick hair, usually combed back in a perfect white wave, was patchy and mussed. His formerly rosy face looked gray, haggard, and his large eyes held a strange, desperate gleam.
“Where’s Amaris, and how do we get her back?” Caleb demanded.
Ximon’s lips, thinned with age and exhaustion, pressed together into a white line. “I wish I knew.”
“You might as well tell us,” I said. “We’ll get it out of you, one way or another.”
“Ah, Desdemona. Of course.” Ximon gave me a bitter smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t anticipate this visit and plan something for you. But I am not myself lately.”
The door to the cage was shut. “Is it locked?” I descended the stairs to the cold floor and took in the whole room again. Ximon was really down here alone, in a cage.
“Yes,” he said. “The objurer you probably found upstairs has the key.”
Thumps from the second story shook the walls. An eagle shrieked, and I heard Lazar grunt once in my earpiece. Something fell, hard, to the floor. “Got him,” Lazar said.
“Search him,” London said, jumping in before I could speak. “Look for a key, and anything else that might be tied to where Amaris is.”
“Copy,” he said.
Ximon was looking at me with what might almost have been fondness, if that was possible. “I see my son Lazar has introduced you to the use of certain technologies. You’ve learned how to keep them from shorting out at your touch.”
“What’s he doing in there?” London asked.
“Ximon?” I turned the question over to him. Inside the enclosure I saw a sleeping pallet, a bucket, some tins of food, utensils, and a large jug of water. I wanted to check the cage out more closely, but the silver exuded a painful hum that kept me back. I was far more sensitive to that metal than other shifters, because I was from Othersphere.
“I’m hoping that the silver will help to keep me from becoming . . . not myself,” he said. “And if the demon does return, maybe the silver will keep him confined.”
November hissed, ran down the length of my body, and put her paws on the mesh between the bars in the door of the silver cage, wincing as the metal burned her flesh. She tugged, but the door didn’t open. With a chirp that sounded like, “Yep,” she jerked her little hands away and scampered over to the shelves, climbing up to examine their contents.
Ximon barely seemed to notice her, switching his feverish gaze from me to Caleb. “I told all but one of my men to leave, so that they wouldn’t be used anymore by the demon. When the time came to go meet you at the reservoir, he was to release me, and I would have driven there, hoping I made it without further transformation.”
“So you really believe you’re possessed by something from Othersphere.” Caleb walked to within ten feet of the cage.
“I would rather not believe it,” Ximon said. “But the evidence is overwhelming.”
“Not yet, it isn’t,” I said. “London, would you mind keeping an eye out on the ground
floor? If you hear anything even slightly like hordes of objurers about to swarm us, yell.”
“Okay, but let me know if he says anything about Amaris.” London trotted back up the stairs.
“Found a key,” Lazar said in my earpiece. “Some books on Othersphere, too. Bringing them down.”
“Great.”
Caleb turned to me, thinking that I was talking to him. His eyes darted to my earpiece as he realized I was responding to someone else. Then he asked, “What should we do with him?”
“He’s coming with us,” I said.
“Ah.” His black eyes were scathing. “So you’re just deciding that, without consulting anyone else? He’s my father.”
“We have to find out what he knows about Amaris,” London’s voice cut in. She must have heard Caleb speak over my headset.
I looked at Caleb square on. “You lost your vote when you abandoned us, remember?”
November trilled what sounded like a short laugh.
Ximon said, “Having second thoughts on the Amba’s methods, my son?”
Caleb’s face was glacier cold as he gazed at Ximon. “If it were up to me, you’d be dead. Then it wouldn’t matter whether or not you’re lying.”
Ximon didn’t appear fazed. “Your father is weaker than he thought, Caleb. Be careful you don’t also dreadfully misjudge yourself.”
Lazar came running down the steps, leaving wet footprints from his fall in the pool. He slowed down as he took in the scene. “I’ve got the key; left the books upstairs with London. Arnaldo’s gone back outside to keep watch,” he said mechanically, his eyes on his father. He paced closer to the cage. “He looks ill.”
“God failed to cure me,” Ximon said.
Lazar nodded, his brown eyes accusatory. “And why do you think that is, Father?”
Ximon’s eyes reddened, his lips twitched. “I’m sorry about your sister, my sons. I’m so sorry.” As he said it, his face caved in with sorrow. Tears erupted from his eyes.
Lazar and Caleb’s faces each bore the same astounded expression. Simultaneously, they pulled their eyes away from their father’s distress. Caleb’s hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets. Lazar’s grip on his gun tightened, the knuckles going white. Staring at the once-arrogant man, now stifling sobs at his own failure, I had my first moment of doubt.