No, Lauren thought. You can fight, or you can fold. Everyone has that choice.
She’d started to perspire faintly, but was surprising herself now, thinking of the townspeople with fondness. Saul? Would he recover? And would Ross ever get his family back?
God knew, they had problems. But they’d protected her when they were able, in the time that she’d been there. And, once they’d gotten used to her, they’d treated her with kindness.
Raine’s Landing. Lord, what a place. And—who knew?—some day she might even come back. Just to see how everyone was getting along.
That old saying was true, wasn’t it? That which didn’t kill you really did make you stronger.
A pensive smile flitted across her lips, then spread up to her eyes. Lauren put the car back into drive, and headed for the freeway.
CHAPTER 65
On the way back home, I stopped and bought some cigarettes. I’d given up the habit a while back, but to hell with it. Just one more pack, then I’d be done. My thoughts were in a total blur.
I had to stop again for a row of flatbed trucks, at the intersection just before my street. They were local, rather than from out of town. And they were loaded up with cinderblocks, shingles, scaffolding, and lumber. Reconstruction was already underway, all over the Landing.
A soft, warm breeze was blowing in from the west when I finally got home. This might turn out to be one of the last genuinely hot days before the fall set in. There was hammering and the loud noise of a drill a couple of blocks away. Maybe they were rebuilding Evan Cope’s house, which I knew had been partway flattened.
A few doors down from my place, some kids were playing on the sidewalk with a Frisbee. And somebody’s old lawn mower was setting up a whirring chatter on the gently moving air.
I sat down on the edge of my front porch and lit a smoke. But it didn’t go exactly as I’d planned. I wheezed fiercely after the first pull, and my eyes began to water. So I threw it down and stamped on it, then tossed the pack away.
“You okay, mister?” came a small high voice.
The kids had stopped playing and were watching me. But I wasn’t sure how to answer them. So I simply got up and went inside, their inquiring gazes still following me.
They were gone when I emerged again. It was late afternoon. What had I been doing all day? I wasn’t even sure myself. Just hanging around. Thinking. And sometimes trying not to.
The memories came back to me, replaying for the thousandth time. All of those occasions Cass and I had fought against the worst effects of magic, shoulder to shoulder, side by side. The times that I had saved her skin, and the numerous times that she’d saved mine.
On the rooftop of my office building, not so very long ago, the thing called Saruak had lunged at me, trying to spear me through the gut. And Cass had aimed her shotgun and then stopped him in his tracks.
Her words, once she’d done that, kept repeating through my head.
“It’s what I do. I watch your back.”
And who was left to do that now?
More time passed, largely unnoticed. The light faded around me, and the west horizon turned progressively redder. Some denser clouds had started blowing in. We would be heading into winter before we even knew it. My mind was merely wandering, picking up on any vagrant thought.
Then the cell phone went off in my pocket. My heart leapt, and I fumbled to answer it.
“Cassie?”
“Huh?”
It was Vallencourt. He sounded harassed, and there was shouting in the background.
“I’m in West Meadow, Devries, on Parson’s Avenue,” he told me. “And I’ve got this situation here. Wondered if you might be able to help out?”
I listened to the problem, told him I was on my way, then headed for my car. But climbing into it, I glanced behind me. Purely out of instinct.
It felt unfamiliar—and pretty damned unsettling—setting off into possible danger with nobody to watch my back.
But it sounded like they needed me out there. So I went anyway.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the following people for their invaluable help in the completion of this novel: Alan Beatts, Mike Abramov, Ann Crimmins, Diana Gill, Patrice Silverstein, Emily Krump, Will Hinton, Leslie Gardner, Darryl Samaraweera, and, naturally, my biggest fan and best helper, Louise Richards.
About the Author
TONY RICHARDS was born in Greenford, Middlesex, England. He is the author of six novels—the first was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award—plus many short stories and articles. His work has appeared in numerous venues, including The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Cemetery Dance, Asimov’s, Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, and Weird Tales. He is currently a full-time freelance writer and, when not traveling, lives in the north of London with his wife.
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By Tony Richards
NIGHT OF DEMONS
DARK RAIN
Credits
Cover art by Don Sipley
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
NIGHT OF DEMONS. Copyright © 2009 by Tony Richards. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition September 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-195976-9
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