Detonation Boulevard (The Wisdom's Grave Trilogy Book 2)

by Craig Schaefer

  The only thing more unnatural than the hunters was the shroud of silence that came with them. Save for one, the hunters were all dead, but the silence lingered on.

  “Fair trade,” said the yellow-eyed woman. She slumped her head back on the hardwood floor. “We’re supposed to go out fighting and keep our mouths shut, if we go out at all. Bounty hunters’ code of ethics and all that. But he should have warned us you were harder than you looked, so fuck him and fuck you too. Guy who pulled the trigger on your contract is a political fixer, calls himself Webster Scratch.”

  Nessa knew him. They’d met at a fund-raising party, just before her entire world had lurched sideways and then upside down. She looked back over her shoulder to Marie.

  “He works for Alton Roth,” she said. “So now we know our next stop, after Carolyn.”

  “Won’t help,” the hunter coughed. “Like I said, once you’re marked, you’re marked, and the bounty’s been put up in advance. He can’t stop the contract now, not for love or money. Not even if you kill him. It stays active until you’re both dead and buried.”

  “We have to leave,” Marie said. She put her eye to the peephole again.

  Nessa studied the blood-flecked tip of her knife.

  “Final question,” she said. “Are the members of your order obligated to take a contract? Are you free not to pursue us, if you choose?”

  “No obligation. It’s piecemeal work. Take the jobs that look juicy, ignore the rest. And the bounty on your heads? It’s real juicy.”

  Nessa touched the edge of the blade to the hunter’s throat.

  “So if it became clear that hunting us was tantamount to suicide,” she mused aloud. “If it was known to your people that crossing our path was a guarantee of agony and death…well, the bounty wouldn’t be quite as alluring, would it?”

  The woman swallowed hard. Her throat swelled, kissing the blade’s edge.

  “Guess not,” she said.

  “Guess not,” Nessa echoed.

  She kept her word and made it quick. Marie was already on the move, tossing their clothes—and the two guns they’d taken off the hunters’ bodies—into their suitcase.

  “One more minute,” Nessa said. She grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom.

  “What are you doing?”

  Nessa crouched over the dead woman’s body and pressed the cloth to her throat, turning the linen from snowy white to scarlet.

  “Sending a message,” Nessa said. “There’s something her friends need to know. Something the entire world needs to know, come to think of it.”

  * * *

  They stepped over the bodies in the hall and rode the elevator down in silence. The suitcase rolled over pristine tiles, and the cavernous lobby turned its wheels into the rumble of thunder. The front desk was empty; apparently the night clerk had found someplace safer to be. It was nearly two in the morning. No traffic on the sleepy city street beyond the tall lobby windows, no flashing police lights in the distance.

  When more hunters arrived, or some hapless tourists cracked the door of their room and found the massacre in the bullet-riddled hallway, there would be something else waiting for them inside the abandoned suite. One more dead body, propped up against the wall with her throat slit. And above her head, scrawled in blood, a simple message.

  THE OWL LIVES.

  Sixteen

  Nessa and Marie hadn’t seen the cloud of gnats that flew just ahead of the hunters. They billowed down the hotel halls like a single living thing, a giant fist of fluttering gray, then broke in dozens of directions. The insects flew under doors, slipped through cracks, seeking out travelers in their beds. They landed with feather-light feet upon sleeping faces and crawled, gossamer wings shivering, into snoring nostrils and sleeping ears.

  The sleepers’ dreams turned to visions of a vast ocean, onyx waters gleaming in the hammered-brass glow of a tequila-colored sunset. The sounds of gunshots became the lapping of waves, screams faded to the whisper of an ocean breeze, and the black water pulled them down, down, gentle into the dark. They would stay there, down in the cold and gloom, until they were given permission to wake once more.

  Up the street from the hotel, a flickering neon sign advertised Mick’s Diner in cherry-lipstick light. The witch who called herself Dora—the Mourner’s only surviving coven sister—had simple needs. A stack of fluffy pancakes, hash browns, and a place that was open around the clock. She perched in a booth in the back and stared out through a plate-glass window, into the dark.

  She ran an idle hand through her dreadlocks and swirled her fork in a puddle of maple syrup. A ragged chunk of pancake smeared it around the nearly empty plate. Dora’s jar—a white soapstone cask the size of a thermos, its silver cap dangling from its open mouth by a slender chain—sat at her right hand. The sleepy-eyed waitress hadn’t commented on it, not when she brought it in, not when she opened it and unleashed the storm of gnats that billowed through the diner before escaping out into the night. Nobody noticed Dora and her pets, not unless she wanted them to. And she usually didn’t.

  Up on the corner, Marie and Nessa emerged from the hotel. Dora checked them out. They looked a little shell-shocked, battered, and Marie was walking with a limp, but other than that, all their pieces were still attached.

  “Not bad,” Dora murmured. “Not bad at all. Starting to see why the queen’s got her eyes on you.”

  She finished her last few bites of pancake. Then she picked up her glass of water and slowly tipped it over the edge of her empty plate. A stream of water rained down, cascading across the syrup-smeared porcelain, forming a tiny pool inside the raised lip of the dish. Her dark fingers stroked the surface of the puddle, caressing it like a lover’s cheek, as she chanted under her breath.

  The water turned dark as the ocean of dreams. And inside the darkness, with a shimmering ripple of light, a face welled up. A woman, moonlight-pale, with a flowing wave of raven hair and an antique silver key dangling at the hollow of her throat.

  “They’re on the move,” Dora told her. “Looks like they punched those bounty hunters’ tickets. Took a few punches too, but nothing they can’t walk off.”

  “Excellent,” replied the Lady in Red. “Stand vigil a while longer, and make sure they have time to escape. They’ve earned a head start, I think.”

  “We went to a lot of extra trouble here. I mean, I could have jumped those clowns in the parking garage, before they ever set foot in the hotel. Lot safer for your girls that way.”

  The Lady chuckled. “And when do I ever offer my daughters safety? No. Now they know they’re being hunted, and they’ll take appropriate precautions. And yes, I could have tasked you with the kill, but that would have been extraordinarily cruel of us.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “If Vanessa and Marie can’t defeat a handful of hired killers, how would they ever stand a chance against what’s coming for them next? The more they’re blooded, the more harshly they’re tested, the stronger they’ll become.”

  “I don’t think you ever worked me or my sisters that hard.”

  “Ah, how the passing of centuries blunts the sharp edge of memory.” The Lady winked, mischievous. “I threw you to the wolves. You thanked me for it, eventually. As will they, if they survive long enough to meet us in person. And now, our next act is about to begin. Please ensure the stage is properly dressed before the actresses arrive.”

  Dora held up her hand. A red and black box of playing cards, Bicycle Dragon-Backs, nestled in her palm.

  “I’ll go spruce up the scene of the crime,” she said.

  * * *

  The Eldorado barreled through the small hours of the morning like a turbo-fueled battering ram. Nessa and Marie left Columbus behind, taking to the highway, and the first long fingers of sunrise chased them across the American heartland. The Midwest was a vast, flat table, where endless cornfields offered up a banquet for the nation. Here and there they drove past lonely clusters of wind turbines, their blades churning slo
w against a cloudless and stony lapis sky.

  “Hell,” Marie said. It was the first word either of them had spoken for twenty miles.

  “Sums up our situation nicely,” Nessa replied. She leaned back in the passenger seat with her eyes shut, drowsing a bit while Marie drove.

  “No. Those bounty hunters.” She pursed her lips, trying to get to grips with her feelings. They slid out from under her fingertips, all slippery edges. “Nessa, I mean…okay, accepting the reality of magic, that was a big bridge to cross for me.”

  “And you crossed it with aplomb. Well done.”

  “Hell. Demons—literal demons. And all the theological implications. That’s another level of crazy. Did you know about this?”

  “Quantify ‘know,’” Nessa replied. “Have occultists written entire volumes on demons and the dealing-with thereof? Yes, of course. Have I seen any actual proof that any of said occultists weren’t deluded or mad, before tonight? No. My witchcraft is blissfully agnostic, thank you very much, and I prefer it that way.”

  “But if demons are real,” Marie said, “that means it’s all real, doesn’t it? What about angels?”

  “I’d caution against making assumptions. I’d caution even more strongly against hope.”

  The highway was a razor-straight line cutting through farmland. Marie picked through the tangled knot of her thoughts as she drove. A sign at the road’s edge read Welcome to Indiana.

  “We have to make a stop,” Marie said.

  Nessa yawned into her palm. “Agreed, you need a nap. Let’s switch and I’ll take the wheel for a couple of hours.”

  “No, not that. Tony and Janine are out looking for us.”

  “For which I’m grateful, but we most likely lost them back in New Jersey.”

  “Can’t risk it.” Marie watched the off-ramp signs, looking for a rest stop. “I’ve got to convince them to turn around. It’s not safe.”

  “Do you think they’ll listen?”

  “Knowing Janine, if I’m not careful she’ll dig her heels in twice as hard. But with those…things running around out there, looking for us? I have to try.”

  * * *

  Daybreak found Janine and Tony in adjoining rooms of a motel just off the Garden State Parkway. The face of Janine’s cell phone lit up in the darkness. It trilled, dragging her out of a dream. She flailed in the tangled, starchy bedsheets, disoriented, reaching in the wrong direction and fumbling with her satin sleep mask.

  “Shit, shit, hold on,” she mumbled. She finally managed to scoop up the phone, almost dropping it, and mashed it against her cheek. “Yeah, ’sup?”

  “Janine, it’s me.”

  Janine sat up straight. Her sleep mask lolled at an angle on her face, covering one eye. She could barely hear her roommate’s voice over the rumbling of trucks in the background.

  “Marie? Where are you?”

  “Listen. I appreciate what you did for me, back in Asbury Park—”

  “You saw that? Well, good, because Avis isn’t going to appreciate it even a little bit, and Tony’s still mad at me. I was like, what’s the point of paying for insurance if you aren’t going to use it?”

  “You need to turn around,” Marie said. “Please. I appreciate that you’re trying to help, it means a lot to me, but it’s too dangerous.”

  Janine leaned over and clicked on the bedside lamp. She squinted, reeling at the sudden flood of harsh light, then turned it off again.

  “What? The feds? They can bluster all they want, but it’s a free country. As far as anyone can prove, me and Tony are on vacation and we’re just…coincidentally following a couple of fugitives. Coincidentally. Nothing illegal about that.”

  “It’s not that.”

  Janine caught the hitch in Marie’s voice, the hesitant pause.

  “What’s going on, Marie? I know you. C’mon, dish.”

  “Senator Roth wasn’t satisfied with ruining my life. We found evidence that he hired…some people.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Assassins,” Marie said. That evasive hitch again, but Janine let it slide. She pushed her sleep mask up on her forehead, her eyes wide open now.

  “Holy shit. Marie, that’s great! I mean, the ‘people trying to kill you’ part isn’t great, but take the proof to the feds! Hell, take it to the media. Both at once. Have the media there when you turn yourself in and throw a damn press conference. The only reason you got indicted for his kid’s murder is because Alton used his political pull to make it happen. If you can prove he’s that dirty and disgrace him in public, they’ll have to drop the charges against you!”

  “It’s not that simple. There are some other factors in play. Things I can’t talk about.”

  “Tell me something,” Janine said. “I haven’t heard from you since the night Richard’s friends attacked our apartment and you got…taken. What happened that night? Because nobody’s saying anything out loud, but everybody’s whispering.”

  “What are they whispering?”

  “Tony got the ME to hand over a copy of his autopsy records. Marie, whatever you and Nessa did out there…Jesus, they hauled twenty bodies out of that zoo. And most of them had been torn to pieces. Some were partially eaten. Which makes me think somebody opened all the exhibits and let the wild animals out, but Vandemere has been shut down for years. On top of that, these guys were money, serious money, and none of their deaths made a single headline. That chick from the FBI told Tony to keep his mouth shut and dangled his job over his head like bait.”

  “I can tell you it was a cult,” Marie said. “A cult with connections in very high places, and they aren’t finished, which is why you and Tony need to back off.”

  Janine put her hand to her mouth.

  “Is it the Illuminati?” she said. “It’s the Illuminati, isn’t it? You laughed when I sent you those YouTube links, but I knew they were real—”

  “It is not the Illuminati,” Marie told her. “I think. Bottom line is, these people don’t care about collateral damage. If you and Tony get in their way, they’ll take you out without thinking twice. And I can’t protect you from a distance.”

  “So let’s meet up and you can do it in person.”

  “Janine…listen. Please. There’s a very good chance that Nessa and I aren’t going to make it out of this alive. I don’t want to drag you down with me. Don’t let me do that to you.”

  “Make it out of what alive? Where are you even going?”

  Janine listened to the roar of trucks on the highway, muffled through the bad connection like she was standing at the far end of a wind tunnel. She thought she heard the edge of a humorless laugh in Marie’s voice when she finally answered her.

  “It’s funny. Turns out all those fantasy novels were getting me ready for this moment. We’re on a quest. Only problem is, unlike the books, real life doesn’t guarantee a happy ending. More often than not it’s the other way around.”

  Something tingled at the back of Janine’s mind. A whisper of intuition, one she’d felt before, that told her she was standing at a doorway. And if she found a way to push that door open, to step across the threshold, her entire world would change forever.

  Her intuition told her that Marie had already crossed that border line.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Marie asked.

  “Vandemere Zoo. What killed those men?” She paused. “It was Nessa, wasn’t it?”

  “Someday…someday, if we survive this, I’ll sit you down and we’ll put a pot of coffee on and I’ll tell you the whole story from the beginning. You won’t believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway. I promise.”

  “You might be surprised. I believe a lot of things.”

  “I’ll get back in touch when it’s safe.” Marie fell silent, and Janine could feel her hunting for something to say, a goodbye that wasn’t goodbye. “Just…just turn around, you and Tony both. I don’t want you to get hurt on my account. Please.”

  She
broke the connection. Janine eyed the screen, glowing in the dark. Then she got up, pulled on a sweater and a pair of old sweatpants, and marched outside into the crisp morning air. She hammered her fist on the next door over.

  Tony answered the door in his undershirt and boxers, stubble on his cheeks. Behind him, the files he’d wheedled out of the medical examiner were spread out on a small table, stark text under hard white lamplight.

  “I know where they are,” Janine told him. “And I know where they’re going next.”

  Seventeen

  “Hit men,” Tony said.

  He’d made Janine walk him through her phone call three times, honing in on key moments with an interrogator’s nose for detail.

  “And she can’t take the evidence to the feds because…reasons,” Janine said.

  She sat on the edge of his bed. Nervous tension kept her bouncing on the stiff mattress, while he sat in a chair by the window. Morning light pushed against the drawn blinds and cast the room in a dusty glow.

  “And you’re sure she wasn’t just trying to scare us off.”

  “Tony, come on. It’s Marie. When have you ever known Marie to lie? Scratch that, when have you ever known her to be good at lying? We had to stop letting her help with surprise birthday parties, because she felt guilty about tricking people. My roomie has many talents, but deception is not one of them.”

  Tony’s dark fingers rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Can’t argue that. So, this ‘quest’ she says she’s on…”

  Janine showed him her phone. Her fingernail, painted in glittery bronze polish, tapped at the call log.

  “Caller ID says she was calling from a payphone in Indiana, and I could tell by the noise that she was next to a highway, probably a rest stop. Interstate 70 is a straight shot from New Jersey, that’s the best bet, and they’ve been heading more or less due west since they fled New York.”

  “Sure,” Tony said. “You ask me, they’re headed for Nevada. We know Alton Roth brought the law down on Marie’s head, as payback for killing his son. If Marie and Vanessa are determined to go out in a blaze of glory, stands to reason they’d want to take Roth with ’em.”