The boy froze. Except for his hand, which darted into that pocket.
"Well?" the old man barked. "Are you going to pick that up for me or not? Bad enough you can't watch where you're going. Don't just stand there..."
He continued to harangue the boy, but Hope couldn't hear him, her attention riveted to that pocket, as the chaos swirled about, as rich and smooth as the best chocolate.
The boy stared at the book, as if praying it would float back into the man's hand. Finally, hand still in his pocket, he bent, stiff-legged, scooping up the book as he mumbled apologies.
As he straightened, a figure stepped from behind a rack, his gaze down, fixed on the book in his hand. It was the gym teacher who'd been talking to the clerk. He noticed the crowd and looked up. He saw the old man still grumbling, and he started to veer out of his way. But then he saw who the old man was chewing out. And he stopped dead.
The chaos vibes surged. Confusion and disbelief and something sharper and stronger, too muddled for Hope to make out. Then the vibes smoothed away as the man's eyes lit up. He said something. A single word. It was too far for Hope to make it out, but the boy wheeled.
The man said it again and moved forward, absently setting his book on a shelf as he passed. The boy stumbled back. He hit the remaindered book table. His free hand windmilled, his other hand flew from his pocket, pulling the gun with it, the weapon sailing into the air and hitting the floor, the clatter swallowed by a clerk's scream.
Everyone stopped. All eyes went to the gun, and that scream echoed through the store like the wail of a siren.
Then, as people realized what was happening, the chaos tsunami hit. Hope reeled under it. Her eyes rolled back, the chaos bliss blinding her. She caught only still shots. The boy, staring at the gun. The man, staring at the boy. The customers, scrambling back in slow motion. A security guard, inching forward, hand going to his holster.
Another wave, so strong Hope's knees buckled. Robyn grasped her arm. Hope pushed her off and grabbed the chocolate display rack. Focus! Damn it, focus! She blinked, jaw clenched.
When Hope could see again, her gaze swung to the security guard. He wasn't much older than the boy, and no less terrified.
Hope tried to move, to do something, anything, but the demon fought to keep her still, smelling disaster and warning her not to interfere, not to get involved, it wasn't safe, just sit back and drink it in, prepare for the chaos feast to come.
Hope grasped the display tighter and pushed off, propelling herself forward. Robyn caught her arm again, whispering for her to let it play out. But Robyn couldn't hear the thoughts pinging through the air; she couldn't feel the fear and confusion. To her, letting it play out meant letting the guard take the boy down quietly and call the police. Only that wasn't going to happen.
Hope pushed past her, but she could tell she wasn't going to make it in time. The guard was only a few steps from the boy. He had his gun raised now, ready. The boy saw that, then glanced at his own weapon on the floor.
"No, no, no," Hope whispered. "Just leave it there. Don't do anything stupid."
She knew the boy and the guard wouldn't listen even if they could hear her. All they could see was that gun on the floor, and all she could see was tragedy pulsing there between them.
The gym teacher broke from his trance, staggering back as if just now realizing he stood between the two young men. As he backed away, he looked over his shoulder, gaze fixing on a carousel of bookmarks. Then he redirected his "stagger" that way, grabbing the carousel as if for support. He wrenched and it toppled into the guard's path.
At the last second, the guard saw the falling carousel and veered out of the way. The boy cast one last glance at the gun, then ran for the doors.
The gym teacher fumbled with the bookmark carousel, as if trying to right it, but only making it worse, blocking the guard so he couldn't follow the boy. The guard finally extricated himself.
The old man waved toward the doors. "He went - "
"The gun," Hope said, pointing. "It's still there."
The guard looked from the gun to the doors. A manager crept over, slinking around the shelves as if trying to assess the situation without getting involved.
"You can't leave the gun there," Hope said. "There are kids in the store."
The manager stepped out then. "She's right. I'll call the police. He didn't steal anything, did he?"
"I don't think so, but - "
"Good. Let the police handle it then. Just get that thing out of here."
Hope backed away, waving for Robyn to head toward the doors before anyone stopped them for a statement. As they escaped, Hope looked for the gym teacher. He was gone.
* * *
FINN
Finn had passed the photo of Jasmine Wills all around the station before finding a detective visiting from another precinct who thought the man in the background resembled a guy he'd interviewed as a witness a few years back.
"But my guy died before the case came to trial," the detective said. "Arrogant son of a bitch. Wouldn't give me the time of day, so I was looking forward to putting him on the stand, just to screw up his week. Guy was some head honcho for the Nast Corporation. You heard of it? I hadn't. One of those companies that doesn't seem to produce anything except other companies. My guy's name was Chris, I think. Your guy looks like he could be his brother. I'd pay a visit to the company tomorrow, flash the photo around. From what I heard, the whole damned family works there."
Finn looked up the case. It was almost seven years old. A carjacking. The witness had seen the whole thing, but didn't bother to call the police. Unfortunately for him, a civic-minded passerby had been busy writing down the license numbers of all the not-so-conscientious people who drove off. Kristof Nast. Now deceased, as Finn verified.
Now Finn was trolling the Nast Corporation Web site, searching in vain for photos of the executives while Damon continued roaming the department, eavesdropping. Madoz arrived, looking for an update. Finn gave it to him, then showed him the photo.
"That's Irving Nast," he said without hesitation.
"Are you sure?"
"Yep. Works for the Nast Corporation. Vice president of something or other. He's the CEO's nephew. I had a case a couple of years ago, one of their employees was killed in a hit-and-run. The widow had this nutty conspiracy theory. Claimed the company did it."
"Orchestrated a hit-and-run?"
Madoz laughed. "Yeah. Apparently the guy quit his job the week before. Definitely a hanging offense." He shook his head. "Total bullshit, but I had to follow through. I think the widow was hoping they'd pay her to shut up. Anyway, my liaison with the firm was Irving Nast.
Nice enough guy. Confused as hell about the whole thing, but cooperated fully. Wish they were all that easy."
"Did you have a home number for him?"
"I think so. Let me grab the file."
Finn called Irving Nast's home number and got his wife. That made things tricky. Nast had cooperated with Madoz, but he might be less inclined to do so when the matter involved a potential indiscretion with a very young woman. Without admitting why he was calling, Finn was able to get Nast's wife to tell him where he was - at the office for a few hours - but couldn't persuade her to part with a cell phone number. So a drop-by visit was in order.
As Finn drove to the Nast head office, Damon's fingers drummed against his leg. He had been like that since the shooting, disappearing into his thoughts, sometimes so much that he faded, once vanishing completely for a few minutes before surging back with a fresh spurt of energy.
The woman's death had bothered him, Finn knew, but more than that, watching her husband's shock and grief had reminded him of Robyn. Last night, Damon said he expected he'd be kept away if Finn found Robyn. But Finn knew he'd hoped that being allowed into the fair meant the barrier had been lifted. He'd expected to see her. Now that disappointment kept pulling him under.
Damon balled his fist and shook it. When he rested his hand on the door hand
le, though, it took only a minute before he started drumming again. His fingers made no sound, and the unnaturalness of it made Finn turn the radio up another notch. It didn't help. He could still feel the weight of Damon's mood.
"How'd you two meet?" he asked finally.
He had to say it twice before Damon responded, "Huh?"
"You and Robyn. How did you meet?"
Damon's eyes lit up, but the smile was hesitant as he studied Finn, judging whether he was just being polite.
"Did you go to college together?" Finn asked.
Damon shook his head. "She was a friend of my younger sister."
"So your sister introduced..."
"Not exactly." Damon's hand moved to his lap, fingers still now. "We met at her wedding - my sister's, that is. Her fiance was this hotshot stockbroker, liked to throw his money around, so he insisted on a huge wedding. Robyn was more of an acquaintance than a friend, but she made the guest list. They had this wedding planner who was big on forced mingling. You know, putting guests at a table where they don't know anyone? Bobby got the seat next to me. Everyone else was from the groom's side - coworkers and friends."
"So you talked to her, made her feel welcome."
"Bobby didn't need help mingling. She's quiet - compared to me - but she's great at making small talk. Gotta be, in her job. These girls we were sitting with, though? They only knew two kinds of small talk. Gossip and snark. Now, if you want to engage in a serious conversation about the propriety of the groom's stepmother wearing a leather miniskirt to the wedding, Bobby's your girl. But sniping and backbiting? No. That was the first thing that got my attention - the way she handled it. Most people would have joined in just to be included. Bobby tried, very politely, to steer the conversation in more constructive directions. When that failed, she backed out."
"And talked to you."
Damon's smile burst into a grin. "By that point, I was the one doing the initiating. I asked about her job, she asked about mine. Few things kill a girl's interest faster than 'I'm a junior high math teacher,' and I came this close to mentioning my band gig instead. But I could tell that wouldn't fly with Bobby. So I told the truth, and she was cool with it. Interested even. We got talking so much, I didn't notice when dessert was served, which, for me, is a miracle."
He paused, as if watching the movie in his head, one he'd replayed so many times he could mouth along with the words.
"And that was it then," Finn said. "You asked her out."
"Wasn't quite that easy. We were both seeing other people. For me, that other relationship was over before the meal was. Robyn had to be convinced, and that wasn't easy when she wouldn't even have coffee with me while she was involved with another guy."
Finn liked that. It supported the picture he was forming of Robyn Peltier as someone principled and honest, someone he could work with and help... if only he got the chance.
"You ever read The Godfather?" Damon asked.
It took a moment for Finn to slide back from his thoughts. "Seen the movie."
Damon's eyes rolled up in thought. "Not sure if it's in the movie. I read the book when I was young. There's this part where Michael Corleone meets his first fiancee, in Sicily, and this old guy says Michael was hit by the thunderbolt. I remember rolling my eyes at that. Really schmaltzy, like something from a bad romance novel. But the night my sister got married, I understood what it meant. Sounds corny as hell, but it's true. You can meet someone and, bam, it's like being hit by a thunderbolt."
"Love at first sight."
"Mmm, I guess so. But that always sounds so... passive. It's not like that at all. It wakes you up with a jolt and you know your life is never going to be the same. Say what you will about fate and that metaphysical shit, but I don't think our meeting was a coincidence, us sitting together, alone, our significant others unable to attend. Me and Bobby, it just... works, you know? We have something." He paused. "Had something." Another pause, then Damon looked out the window. After a moment, his fingers returned to the armrest, silently drumming.
* * *
COLM
Colm had to warn Adele.
He took out the cell phone she'd given him, the one she'd taken from Robyn. She'd set up a speed-dial number to her cell phone. He called it... and got a message saying she was unavailable.
He tried twice more. She must have accidentally turned it off. He had to get to their meeting place. He ran behind the bookstore, his chest so tight that each breath seemed to lodge in his throat.
What had happened in there?
Adele had made it sound so simple. Get Robyn Peltier out and Adele would take it from there.
But she hadn't said how to get Robyn out. Maybe she thought it was so simple he didn't need instructions. But it hadn't been simple at all.
He'd hesitated and, in that hesitation, he'd betrayed Adele.
The kumpania taught that the gods punished mortals for laziness, for letting fate lead the way, for failing to take decisive action in shaping their own destiny. Adele knew how to please the gods. She'd never hesitated to take the most difficult steps to protect herself and the kumpania. A strong, shining example, like his mother. Colm was weak, indecisive and afraid, like his father.
His mother never said anything negative about his father, but Colm had heard the rumors. His father had been a durjardo, like Adele, an outside clairvoyant welcomed into the kumpania. Unlike Adele, though, he'd failed to assimilate and in the end, he'd abandoned his family, and for that he'd died. Killed by the gods. Given a chance at the best possible life for a clairvoyant, he had turned his back on it.
Now Colm saw himself failing, like his father. He'd followed Robyn Peltier... and walked straight into a trap. He'd never told Adele about that couple at the apartment. He'd seen the man's supernatural powers. He'd suspected the woman's powers. But he'd refused to consider the implications. He'd run away.
Adele had thought Robyn was an unwitting pawn. She'd been wrong. Robyn was part of the plan to capture Adele for the Nast Cabal. If there had been any doubt, any sense he might be overreacting, it had been erased when he'd seen the man in the ball cap.
Colm knew him. He had no idea how or from where, but one look at the man's face and recognition had hit like a fist to his stomach. With that recognition came the feeling that seeing him was bad, horribly and impossibly bad. That meant the man had to be from the Cabal.
Like every kumpania child, Colm had undergone "the lessons." He couldn't remember much about them, but sometimes he'd have nightmares and wake gasping and shaking, remembering snippets of a basement room and Niko's voice and photographs being flashed on a screen and jolts of indescribable pain. Seeing that man, and feeling that dread, Colm knew he must have seen him in those photographs - pictures of people who worked for the Cabal.
The man had said Colm's name. Not once, but twice. And Colm had seen his future - locked in a Cabal cell, forced to use his clairvoyant powers until he fell into madness, consumed by his visions.
The accidental dropping of his gun had seemed almost a stroke of good luck. As the security guard bore down on him, gun at the ready, Colm had seen his escape route - the final release every kumpania child was taught to take if he was ever cornered by a Cabal. All he had to do was reach for the fallen gun and the guard would free him.
But the Cabal man hadn't been about to let that happen. And when he distracted the guard, giving Colm a chance to escape, he'd taken it.
He hurried around the rear corner. No sign of Adele. That was okay - she'd be hidden ahead, trusting he had everything under control.
He slowed, thinking of how he could slant the events to favor him without downplaying the danger. When he had his story ready, he picked up his pace and looked behind the bin where Adele was supposed to wait.
She wasn't there.
Disappointment and dread prickled under his skin, and he stamped his feet, shaking it off. He had to focus. So she wasn't here. Big deal. He'd been gone a long time and she must have set out to see what
was wrong.
But why not just call him?
Her cell phone must be broken, which is why he couldn't get through. Or maybe his was. If it came from Robyn and Robyn was with the Cabal, then he shouldn't be using it at all. Maybe Robyn had planted a trace in it. That would explain how they'd known he was in the bookstore.
He took out the cell phone and pitched it against the wall. It didn't break, but made a satisfying crack. He kicked it under a bin. Then he strode back around the building to find Adele.
Colm climbed the fence behind the store, dropped to the other side and huddled there, knees clasped to his chest, his back to the fence, gaze darting side to side, knowing he wouldn't see anyone, but looking anyway.
He'd circled the store and weaved through the parking lot looking for her, one eye always fixed on the store doors. There was a police car in the lot, meaning officers were inside. When they'd come out, he'd hid between two minivans, then balled up his nerve and tailed a group of kids his age into the store. Adele hadn't been in there either.
He'd found a pay phone and tried her cell, but got that same "unavailable" message. He'd even tried catching a vision of her. He knew he couldn't - clairvoyant powers didn't work on one another - but he'd hoped their connection, their love, might help him past that barrier. It hadn't.
He couldn't find her. And he couldn't find any of the others - Robyn, the pretty Indian girl, her boyfriend or the ball-cap-wearing man. That could only mean one thing: they'd taken Adele.
That's why they hadn't chased him. He was just a boy, coming into his powers. Adele was a trained clairvoyant, her powers proven. She was their only target.
The incident in the store had been staged. Robyn led him to the pretty girl, making him realize something was wrong, making him worry. Then the man called his name, sending the worry into full panic, distracting him while the girl's superhuman boyfriend snatched Adele outside.
He had to call the kumpania.
But what if he was wrong? What if Adele was looking for him? And if Niko learned she'd been targeted by a Cabal and had said nothing, leaving the entire kumpania exposed...
Living With the Dead Page 24