“We have to get Mab,” he told her. 'And as far as I'm concerned, Ray and Ursula deserve each other."
Weaver looked back. “Yeah, but do we deserve what they'll get up to together?”
Ethan slowed.
The paddleboat dock was empty.
“Fuck,” he said, and started to run.
Mab had reached the paddleboat dock and climbed out, shivering in the cold, Frankie swooping ahead of her. She looked around and didn't see Ethan and Weaver. Probably off somewhere discussing the best way to kill with the thumb. Although, really, she should stop mocking them. They had a good relationship, definitely better than she and Joe, no, Fun, than she and Fun had ever had. Of course, he was a demon. It was hard to have a serious relationship with a demon. Them being demons and all.
Don't cry, she told herself as she walked down the dock, wrapping her coat around her against the freezing air. She was happy for Ethan and Weaver, they were meant for each other, people were supposed to be happy -
She stopped and squinted into the darkness.
There was a child on the path over by the Mermaid Cruise.
“Hello?” she called out. “Are you lost? Where's your mama and daddy?” She stepped off the dock and went toward the kid, mentally cursing the idiocy of parents who lost children in amusement parks. Give the kid nightmares for years, she thought as Frankie shrieked his own disapproval above her. “Hey,” she said, when she was close enough to speak without yelling, and the child turned around, and she saw painted eyes and a wide painted smile under a black beret -
Something hit her from behind, and she went down hard, the breath knocked out of her, as wooden dolls swarmed around her in berets and lederhosen and flowered shirts, stuffing paper leis in her mouth as she tried to get her breath back to scream, their little wooden hands digging into her arms and legs, dragging her across the flagstones as she kicked out at them. Her foot struck wood, hard, and something went thump, and there was another one, there were too many, she tried to wrench her arm free and almost dislocated her shoulder, tried to get the damn lei out of her mouth so she could scream for Erhan, and then they shoved her hard and she went over an edge and fell facedown into freezing water between two cars. She spit out the lei and tried to get to her feet, but they were on her, surprisingly heavy little bastards, demon-heavy, a half dozen grabbing on to her canvas coat and sinking her to the bottom of the three-foot-deep tank with their weight, sending her into panic, she was drowning, her baby was drowning, she was going to die, her lungs bursting -
And then something red rose up inside her and said, Fucking minions are not going to kill my demon spawn, and she shrugged herself free of her coat and shot forward under the next cruise boat and surfaced beyond it, inside the dark cruise tunnel, gasping for breath, mad as hell, and freezing to death. She grabbed on to the side of the tank and tried to boost herself up, her teeth chattering in the cold, but they were on her again, dragging her down, and she lashed out, screaming at them, and then a strong hand grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the water and lifted her up into darkened France.
“Let go,” she said, swinging, and whoever it was said, “I'm saving you, dummy.” He kicked at one of the demons who'd tried to follow her, and she saw thick-rimmed Coke-bottle glasses gleam in the dim light and stopped struggling.
“Up there,” he said, pointing, and she climbed over the wrought-iron railing into the upper part of the diorama - the Eiffel Tower - as he threw two more dolls back into the water and followed. “Get behind me,” he said, and picked up a gun that looked a lot like Weaver's demon gun, so she did, her teeth chattering in the cold as her wet clothes began to freeze.
“What are you doing here?” she said, shivering hard as she leaned up against his back in the dark, more for warmth than support.
“Your bird yelled, and I came to find out why,” he said, his voice calm as he looked down the tunnel toward the dim light of the opening. “What are they doing?”
“Some of them are still drowning my painting coat and some were trying to drown me,” Mab said, her teeth chattering, and then one climbed out of the water and he shot it, blowing it back into the drink.
That doll's going to be hard to fix, she thought, and collapsed behind him, shuddering with the cold. She tried to sit up while he blasted two more demons off the walkway, and finally managed to stay upright, her shivers turning to spasms.
He looked around at her and said, “Hell,” and put the gun down.
“No, no,” Mab said, “keep the gun,” but he took off his jacket and put it around her and she didn't argue. It was a down jacket, and she was freezing for two.
Then he picked up the gun again and said, “I don't like waiting to be murdered by a bunch of little foreigners. Is there a back way out of here?”
“Yeah, farther into the tunnel, behind the scrims,” Mab said, her teeth chattering less now. “They're -”
They came charging from the front of the tunnel, some running along the walkway, some paddling a cruise boat, and began to stream around the sides of the fence, the French, the Germans, and the Hawaiians, all with hateful glowing demon eyes, converging on them. The guy raised his gun and fired at the first one, blowing it back against the two behind it. He fired again and blew another one out of the boat. He aimed at another, and the first one he'd shot got up and began to run toward them.
“What the hell?” he said as the rest rushed toward them, getting temporarily blown back by the D-gun and then running again. “I thought this gun was supposed to kill them.” He pulled the trigger and there was a click. “HelL” He ripped off the drum underneath the barrel and slammed another one home and fired again. “How many are there?”
“Eighteen, I think,” Mab said, her teeth chattering. “Six dolls in each country, France, Germany, and Hawaii, after us.”
“Hawaii is a country?” the guy said, and kept shooting, but not fast enough.
Mab rose up behind him and yelled, “Specto!” throwing her hand at the closest one, and he froze in midair, which was reassuring, since she hadn't been sure she could do that without the Guardia behind her.
The guy kicked him into the water and blew several others after him back with the gun. Then he pulled off the drum magazine and reloaded again from a bag hanging on his waist. “That's a nice trick you've got there.”
“Thank you,” Mab said. “I think we should leave.”
“That way?” he said, nodding farther down the tunnel as he snapped the gun back together.
“No,” Mab said, shivering. “There are twelve countries in this thing, and for all we know they're all possessed. What if there's another one waiting for us?”
“If it's China, they'll take a trade deal.”
“It's not funny!” Mab said, in pain everywhere from the cold.
“Sorry.” He sat back on his heels. “I was assured this gun killed demons, but it doesn't seem to be working. And I've only got six more rounds.”
“I think you're hitting the wood,” Mab said. “I don't think you're touching the demon inside. We need to break their bodies.”
“Good, you work on that,” he said, and picked one off as it tried to crawl around the fence. "Because this is not
His voice trailed off as he straightened.
“Crack the wood, huh?” he said, and put the gun down.
'Keep the gun!" Mab said as another one rushed them, but he picked up the doll and threw it with great force onto the iron railing below, where it cracked open and spewed something that looked like rotten purple jam all over the walkway.
They were still coming, but he was a fast thrower, and Mab specto-ed every one she could, so that after four were splintered on the railing, the others drew back to confer, babbling in little chittering sounds, like dead leaves blowing on pavement, that sent shivers down Mab's back. Or that could have been the cold.
“Here's the plan,” he said. “We go out the front and then run like hell.”
“You're not brave,” she said. “I
like that in a man.”
“Stay behind me,” he said, and handed her the gun.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Try not to drop it.” He edged his way down to the fence and shook it a little, and then he bent down. “I'll be damned,” he said, and then a little Hawaiian jumped on his back and Mab raised the gun and shot the doll, sending them both into the fence.
“Ouch,” the guy said. He grabbed the doll that had fallen off him and smacked it into the rail, and then he reached down and wrenched one of the wrought-iron supports free. “Come on,” he said to her, “and don't fire that damn gun again.”
“Sorry.” Mab stuck behind him, shivering as they edged along the fence, his body blocking her from the worst of the wind blowing into the tunnel. He stopped at the opening and stayed there silent for several moments, and she looked down at the fence to see what had made him swear.
The bottom of the spear-shaped iron picket didn't look right.
She bent down, her hand shaking in the cold, and yanked on it, and it came out of a bracket at the bottom, it wasn't welded on at all, and then she stood up, yanking it free from the bracket at the top, and realized it wasn't a picket, it was an iron spear. All the pickets were spears, stored in brackets on the wrought-iron rail.
“This fence is all over the park,” she whispered. “That means these pickets -”
Suddenly they were swarmed again, and Mab stabbed and slashed until he pulled her through the tunnel entrance and out onto the ramp, shielding her as he made short efficient stabs into the dolls' necks.
Articulated necks, Mab thought; he'd found their weakness.
“Will you run?” he snapped at her, and she said, “No,” and began to stab for the neck, too.
“Damn it.” He turned back to the dolls and yelled, “Get that one, he's the leader!”
“What?” Mab said, but the demons stopped in their tracks, turning to look at one of the French demons, chittering now as it backed away, its beret askew.
Mab started to move, but the guy grabbed her arm, so she stood quietly, shuddering with the cold.
Then they all screamed and fell on the French doll, and the guy said, “Now,” and they tore out of the cruise tunnel and down the ramp and along the midway toward the Ferris Wheel to meet Ethan and Weaver, who were running toward them as Frankie swooped overhead, cawing at her, probably screaming, How could you be so dumb?
“What the hell?” Weaver said to the guy as he stopped in front of her, Mab running into his back.
“That leader thing worked,” he said to Weaver, barely out of breath at all. “They're back in the Mermaid Cruise, killing one of their own.” Then he tugged on Mab's arm. “She's freezing, so if you don't need me on this -”
“Get her warm,” Ethan said. “We got this.”
The guy took the D-gun from Mab and handed it to Ethan. “This does not work if they're inside wood. The pickets on the wrought-iron fence are spears. Jab them in the space between the joints, and you've got them.”
“Right,” Weaver said, and took off running for the Mermaid Cruise, Ethan hot on her heels.
The guy walked over to the paddleboat dock and picked up Mab's work bag from where she'd dropped it during the attack. He shoved it into her arms and said, “If we hurry, you'll be warmer.”
“Who are you?” she said, shivering in the dark as she took the bag.
He turned to her, his black-rimmed Coke-bottle glasses gleaming in the lousy light from the cellophane-covered streetlamps. “I'm Oliver.”
“Hello, Oliver,” Mab said, and let him pull her down the midway, running to keep up with him, Frankie keeping watch overhead.
Wild Ride
18
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Ethan and Weaver found several dolls lying near the entrance to the cruise with goo eating through the wood, and one German doll just inside the tunnel, torn to pieces and leaking purple into the water in the rank.
“This is a mess,” Ethan said as he led Weaver into the dark tunnel, shining his Maglite ahead of them. “Remind me to tell Glenda to shut this ride down so we don't have to explain what wiped out France, Germany, and Hawaii. Or why the water looks like acid Kool-Aid.”
“Hawaii's a country?” Weaver said as she stared at the carnage next to the fence.
“When this thing was built, it was a territory,” Ethan told her. “So, that guy's your partner?”
“Yep. Oliver.”
“What was he doing with Mab?”
“Following her.”
“Why?”
“The same reason I followed you. She has a demon trace.”
“Yeah, but he didn't shoot her.”
“She wasn't trying to push Gus under the Dragon. I don't think there are any demons in here.”
Ethan stopped. “I wasn't trying to push Gus under the Dragon.”
“Well, it looked like you were.” Weaver kept on walking past China. “He wouldn't have shot her anyway. He's against shooting. He made me promise never to kill a demon unless it was attacking something. He said it was the only way there'd be any left for him to study.”
“Sounds like you have a good partnership,” Ethan said.
“Very good,” Weaver said, and then they were silent until they reached the end of the ride, Weaver for her own reasons, Ethan because he suddenly discovered himself feeling something he'd never felt before.
Jealousy.
When they were out in the open again, Ethan said, “So Did you and he ever -?”
“Yep,” Weaver said. “When we were done, he said, “That was very efficient.” I think we'd been partners too long."
“Oh. So you're not now -”
“No, Ethan, now I'm with you. In Hank's trailer.”
“Oh. Uh, good.” Ethan looked around the park, trying to find another topic of conversation now that his future was back to bright again. Any topic of conversation. It was dark, except for the flashing light on top of the Devil's Drop and a few muted security lights here and there. “They're not going to stop coming.”
“Nope.”
“We need a plan.”
“Good idea.”
“I'm going to have to get the Guardia together tomorrow. Come up with a strategy.”
“Good,” Weaver said. “Thanks for being jealous.”
Ethan almost said, I wasn't jealous, but then he shrugged. “Sure,” he said, and they walked back to the trailers, arguing about the plan.
His future had never looked better.
By the time they got to Delpha's trailer, Mab's hair had started to freeze and she was shuddering inside Oliver's coat. He opened the door and pushed her in as Frankie swooped in to land on his nest over the kitchen.
Oliver went past her, down the short hall, where he opened the bathroom door and reached in. She heard the water in the shower come on as she shuddered with the cold, and then he came back to her and stripped the coat off her.
“In,” he said. “You can take off your clothes in the shower, just get under the water,” and she stepped in, and he shut the door.
She walked under the water, only warm now but getting hotter, and thought, I can't take many more days like this, and put her head against the shower wall and cried from exhaustion and neat death and pregnancy and confusion.
Then the water got hotter and her clothes got heavier and she shoved everything off and stood naked as all the glorious warmth washed over her and brought her back.
Cold. It really shut down your ability to deal with life.
Somebody had put her soap and shampoo out - not Oliver, he hadn't had the time - and she washed off the last of the tank water, and thought, Okay, now, what about him? There was plenty of mystery there, Coke-bottle-glasses guy rescuing her from demons and knowing Weaver, but she was so damn tired.
She turned off the water and reached for a towel, and then registered that there was a towel there. Somebody had unpac
ked her things and set up the trailer for her. Somebody had taken care of her. She felt tears start again and scrubbed them away with the towel, and then she put on her old blue terry cloth robe with the ducks and went out into the hall.
“Here,“ Oliver said from the bedroom, and she stepped inside and he pointed to the bed, already made up and now piled high with blankets. ”Get in," he said, and she did, and he pulled the covers over her, and then stood there uncertainly while she shivered under the covers.
“Cold bed,” she said, trying to explain away her wimpiness.
“Okay,” he said, “scoot over,” and climbed in with her, pulling the comforter over her head, shielding her wet hair from the air.
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