But that was the only bright side, Ethan thought as he patrolled the tunnels with Weaver on Friday afternoon, his Mark 23 in one hand, a flashlight in the other. Gus had wanted to do it, but Ethan had sent him back to watch the park, in the safety of daylight, promising him to check the Keep while they were at it.
“I hate patrolling,” Weaver said conversationally as they drew near the Keep door. “I know it's necessary but -”
Ethan sensed a presence ahead, dropped to one knee, and drew his pistol with a practiced move, the light in his other hand pointing toward the Keep door.
The door banged open and a plastic pirate ran toward him, cutlass raised, toxic purple eyes glaring, and Ethan fired twice, the rounds hitting right between the glowing purple eyes, both bullets punching a single black hole. Nice, Ethan thought, but it kept coming straight for him.
Then a muzzle flash blinded him as Weaver fired her D-gun. He blinked, and saw the pirate on its back, the circular round of the demon gun embedded in its center, the plastic pieces dissolving around a puddle of dark, empty demon ooze, sizzling as it ate into the stone.
“There are more,” Ethan said, standing up, not seeing any more coming from the Keep, but sure they were there.
Something moved inside the Keep basement.
“Cover!” Ethan yelled, grabbing up his gun. He fired and so did Weaver, his bullets slowing the oncoming pirate, hers exploding it, and several pirates behind that one turned and scrambled for the stairs. Ethan pulled the clip out of the Mark 23 and slammed a fresh one home. “Okay, you gel me a damn D-gun.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Weaver stepped into the Keep basement over the plastic pieces and demon goo and headed for the stairs. “Ursula counts them every day now, and you know the deal, you tell me things and you let my partner examine you.”
Ethan followed her up the stairs and paused just before the door. There was no noise on the other side, but he had no doubt there was something airing for them there. He could feel it.
He looked at Weaver. He held up three fingers and pointed at the door. He nodded.
They hit the door exactly the same way.
Ethan barely ducked the hook that slashed at him, firing as fast as he could pull the trigger, the muzzle of the pistol inches from the pirate. The big .45-caliber rounds slammed into the plastic, blowing chunks out the back. The pirate swung the hook past Ethan toward Weaver and then the entire arm - and pirate - disintegrated as she fired.
Acid purple goo splattered Ethan's Kevlar vest and etched itself into he surface as Weaver kept firing, blowing two more pirates away before the rest scrambled for the stone steps circling the wall, making chittering sounds that were probably demon for “They're not supposed to be doing that. ”
They didn't seem to be expecting the demon gun.
Erhan scanned the big room, once the Keep Dining Hall, full of old restaurant tables and hentwood chairs but not, as far as he could see, any more demons.
“Only three?” Weaver said, sounding disappointed.
“With the two in the tunnel, that's five,” Ethan said. ”There are twelve pirates on the pirate ride, so you're probably gonna shoot seven more any minute now."
She reloaded.
They were on the first floor of the Keep, the drawbridge level. He looked around to see the massive wood-and-iron door taking up a good part of the outer wall, the side he knew that faced the boathouse and dock, with its smaller door in the center of the drawbridge, no other way out. “They're all gonna be up there,” Ethan said, and reloaded. “Ready?”
Weaver nodded.
They climbed the stairs, and Ethan paused once more, leaning close to the door. Once more he heard nothing, and didn't sense anything on the other side.
“Not here,” he told Weaver. “They must have retreated to the top level. Be careful anyway.”
They went through the door, covering each other, but there was nothing there except the old restaurant kitchen, its stainless shelving dulled with dust. Ethan didn't pause, climbing the next set of stone stairs to the top level of the Keep with Weaver right behind him.
He stopped at the door and pulled back. “They're on the other side.”
“How do you know? I don't hear anything.”
“I know.”
Ethan kicked the door open and began shooting as the minion pirates charged at him, their eyes glowing with rage. His bullets slammed them, slowing their assault as Weaver fired the demon gun as fast as she could, but there were too many and they were too fast -
Ethan spotted movement to his left and spun to see the one-eyed pirate captain running toward him.
“That's their leader, take him out!” Ethan yelled to Weaver, and raised his gun to fire, but before he could, the other pirates turned on the captain, piling on him, bringing him down, tearing at the plastic that encased him as Weaver picked them off; rapid fire, spattering demon goo everywhere.
When the last one was a mess of plastic and sizzling spatter, Weaver lowered her gun. “What the hell?”
“I don't know,” Ethan said. “Maybe they don't like authority.”
“I've thought about doing that to Ursula,” Weaver said. “But they didn't even stop to defend themselves from me. I know they're evil, but you'd think they'd have some survival instincts.”
“They're demons. Not deep thinkers.”
Ethan turned and looked around, ignoring the oozing demon goo eating through the plastic remains and doing a light etch on the stone.
A five-sided wood table dominated the center of the room, five chairs circling it. Stairs went around the back of the room to the roof, and stacked under those were old trunks and boxes. A big armoire was to the right, and beyond that a weapons rack piled high with lances, spears, pikes, swords, and axes.
Weaver picked up a sword. “Nice.”
“Iron. So they didn't come for the weapons.” F.than looked around the room. “Were they waiting for us?”
Weaver slashed the sword through the air. “Nice balance. I do like a classic weapon. Aren't you going to take one?”
“I have a knife,” Ethan said, and headed for the door. The pirate attack hadn't been random. They'd been lying in wait, which meant something. He just didn't know what.
But Glenda might know. Or Ray, if Ethan stepped on his neck. Somebody was going to start giving up answers. Now.
The park was filling up as Mab headed for the Oracle tent, media all over the place taking pictures of people in costumes screaming on the repainted rides, eating Cindy's ice cream cones, and laughing at the park staff, who were slathered in gray-green makeup and playing undead all over the midway. It was all going to be wonderful advertising as long as nobody tried to interview a demon. Mab opened the sliding doors of the Delpha's Oracle tent and went in, Frankie almost cooing on her shoulder, he was so pleased to be there.
He flew up to the rafters, and she put her bag down on the table, prepared to clean up, and found that Delpha had done it already. The only thing there was the cardboard box that Delpha had been packing the day she'd told Mab's fortune. Mab took her bag off the table and went around to the other side - Delpha's side, she thought - and dropped her bag on the floor, making Delpha's urn clink. She hesitated, but thinking of the guy with the Coke-bottle glasses in the Dream Cream, she put the urn on the table.
Delpha's shawl was folded neatly on top of her box, dark blue chenille shot with silver threads, with little silver stars sewn onto the ends. Mab hesitated, then shrugged off her paint coat - that would not inspire faith in the customers - and wrapped the shawl around her instead.
It was warm, deeply warm, like a chenille embrace. She tried a couple of different ways of wrapping it and finally settled for putting it over her head and shoulders and wrapping it in front of her because that provided the most warmth. She was considering whether to go back to the Dream Cream for a hot tea when two people came through the open doors, a young blonde and her boyfriend, her giggling, him rolling his eyes.
“Hi,” Mab said
, sitting down. “I'm Mab.” I I tell fortunes. No, really.
“It says 'Delpha' on the tent,” the guy said, holding out one of the chairs for the girl.
Mab glanced at the urn where Delpha was ensconced in bronze and dragons. “Yeah, she's here, too.”
“Stop it, Bill,” the woman said, giving him a little push as she sat down. “He's a reporter,” she told Mab, “so he's kinda skeptical.”
“Yeah, Bill,” Mab said, feeling a little nervous now. “Knock it off. So, what's your question?”
“We have to ask a question?” Bill said, sitting down. “You don't just see our futures?”
Don't make this any harder than it already is, Bill. “Do you have any idea how much crap there is in your future? Hours, days, months, years, full of stuff. How much time do you have and how much money?”
“I have a question,” the woman said.
“Of course you do, Honey,” Bill said, rolling his eyes again.
Mab looked up at Frankie, sharing the experience of what a dick Bill was. “You know, Bill, you should see an optometrist about that rolling-eye problem. Makes you look rude and patronizing.”
“Well, I'm sorry,” Bill said, clearly not. “But I don't believe in this stuff.”
“Now there we share an experience. However, your beloved does believe, and it's just mean to keep patronizing her like that, so stop it.”
“Yeah,” Honey said.
“You don't believe in this, either?” Bill laughed. “That's a good one. That'll be great for my article.”
“I didn't believe,” Mab said, “until I got hit with the magic stick and now I see a whole lot more. Ten bucks, please.”
“Ten bucks,” Honey said. “It used to be five.”
“And you used to be a brunette,” Mab said. “Things change.”
“Wow, you could see that?”
“Anybody can see that,” Bill said. “Your roots are showing.” He nodded at Mab. “You're on.” He got out his wallet and slapped a ten on the table. “You get this if I believe you're really seeing the future.”
“It's not always the future,” Mab said, remembering Delpha's reading for her. “Sometimes it's just deeper into the present. It's not much fun.”
“You need to work on your patter,” Honey said. “You're kind of a downer.”
“You want happy, go see a clown,” Mab said. “What's your question?”
Honey beamed at Bill. “I want to know that we're going to live happily ever after,”
“I want to lose ten pounds,” Mab said. “Give me your hand,”
Honey put her right hand out, and Mab remembered Delpha and said, “The other one.”
Honey put her left hand out, and Mab took it gingerly, not sure what was going to see or if she was going to see, pressing her palm down on Honey 's -
At first there was nothing there, and Mab thought, I knew this wouldn't work. And then there was something, not visions, not voices, just a feelilig, love and longing and fear - Terror, she thought, and tried to figure our what that was about. Honey was radiating not physical fear, but abandonment, loss, something beyond the need for love, although that was overwhelming.
Mab dropped her hand, stunned. The psychic thing worked. Now what was she going to do with it?
“What?” Honey said, alarmed.
“You love him so much,” Mab said.
“Yes, I do,” Honey said.
“But you're afraid there's something wrong, you're so terribly afraid -”
“No,” Honey said, losing her smile. “No, I'm not, I'm not -”
“Give me your hand, Bill,” Mab said, and when he hesitated, she said, 'You don't believe in this crap anyway," and he put out his hand.
She took it and put her palm on his, determined to find out what Honey already knew, subconsciously. If this jerk was .
Love, good steady love, and guilt, and fear.
“Oh, hell,” Mab said, ”you love her, too."
“Of course I do,” Bill said, and Honey began to smile again.
“But you're going to hurt her, you're going to leave her.” Mab looked at Honey with sympathy. “He loves you all he can, but he cannot love you very much.”
“What?” Honey said. “Why?”
“Honey, she's just yanking your chain,” Bill said, trying to get his hand back from Mab.
He's terrified, she thought, getting a word for the first time, terrified. . . no, that's not it. “Terry,” she said, and Bill looked at her, appalled. “Terry, do you know a Terry?”
“Of course we know a Terry,” Honey said. “He's Bill's best friend. They play basketball every Sunday.”
They don't play basketball “You have to tell her,” she said to him. “It's not fair. She loves you very much, but she knows something is wrong and it's making her miserable.”
Bill looked at Honey, who still looked mystified. “I don't -”
“Don't be a bastard, Bill,” Mab said, letting go of his hand. “People don't lie to people they love, they lie to people they're using because they think their needs are more important than anybody else's.” She thought of Joe for a minute and then thought, No, he's different. “Look at her, Bill. She doesn't deserve to be lied to. Nobody deserves to be lied to.”
“Bill?” Honey said.
Bill stood up. “Come on. Let's go.”
Honey stood up. “We're all right. You love me. She said so.”
“You want your money back, Bill?” Mab said.
“No,” he said, and left the tent, Honey hurrying to catch up with him.
Mab looked at Frankie, perched up in the rafters. “This job sucks.”
Except I really can tell fortunes.
Another woman, a brunette in her forties this time, came through the open doors and sat down. “I want to know about my boyfriend.”
“Of course you do,” Mab said. “Ten bucks.”
It was going to be a long day.
Wild Ride
13
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Ethan led Weaver to the trailers and said, “My mother lives here.”
Weaver frowned at the neat grouping of Airstreams, two on each side of the path. “Who lives in the others?”
“Gus next to Glenda. The other two used to be Old Fred and Hank, but they're gone now. Delpha's is down that path next to the river.”
“So there are two empty trailers, but you're sleeping in the woods.”
“1 like the woods - you never know who might show up there.” Ethan knocked on the door of Glenda's trailer. When she opened it, he said, “Remember how you always wanted me to bring home a nice girl?”
Glenda looked past him to Weaver, dressed all in black with her gun under her arm.
“This isn't her,” Ethan said. “This is Weaver. The man in black.”
Glenda looked at Weaver again and nodded. “Mab mentioned you.”
He turned to Weaver. “Come on in and tell Glenda everything.”
“Ursula will be upset,” Weaver said.
“How badly do you want me to do that medical exam?” Ethan said.
Weaver pressed her lips together for a minute and then walked up the trailer steps, and pushed past Glenda to go in.
Glenda lowered her voice. “So this is the infamous Army Barbie. I hear you gave her Carl's dragon.”
“Weaver has a gun that kills minion demons,” Ethan told Glenda. “And glasses that can see them in the dark."
“We don't need that,” Glenda said, “we have powers.”
“And if we play our cards right, we'll have both,” Ethan said, and gently pushed her into the trailer.
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