"Burning Bright" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dowd Tom)

7

"Melissa described Linda Hayward as taller than average, maybe one hundred and eighty centimeters," said Kyle. It was late that evening, and he was stretched out on the couch in the sitting room of his hotel suite. Hanna Uljaken sat with a tray of snack foods at her side, writing notes on her datapad. Seeks-the-Moon was nearby, carefully inspecting a large bowl of fruit. "Black hair, shoulder length, bright blue eyes, pouty mouth," continued Kyle.

Uljaken looked up at the last bit of description. Kyle shrugged. "Her words, not mine. Melissa also said Hayward had a good body, and that she thought it was all hers."

"Meaning?" said Seeks-the-Moon, looking up from his investigation.

"That it wasn't cosmetic or surgical."

"Ah," said the spirit. "And here I thought we might have something kinky."

"Give it time," Kyle said. "The kicker is the gang affiliation." He sat up. "Ms. Uljaken, did the database search come up with anything on the gang name 'Desolation Angels' that Melissa gave us?"

"Nothing that our search programs could find in any of the public records. Mr. Truman has agreed to have someone from research and development look into it. Knight Errant is also investigating."

'Truman's loaning us a decker?"

She smiled. "Were he not working for us, I suppose that's what he'd be." She glanced down almost shyly, then back up at him. "You know, it's all right if you call me Hanna." She smiled.

Kyle returned the smile. "Would that be appropriate?"

"It could be."

"Should I leave?" asked Seeks-the-Moon, biting loudly into an apple as he took a seat next to Kyle.

Uljaken glared at the spirit, then turned back to Kyle. "I thought you said spirits didn't like being, what did you say, 'manifest'?"

"Some of us don't," Seeks-the-Moon said before Kyle could answer. "Unlike those poor elementals who must force themselves into an ill-fitting physical body to be manifest, I have an actual physical form. Courtesy of him." The spirit smiled and gestured at Kyle. "Sculpted from the primal potential, cast by the grace of will, and kept extant by the simple fact that banishing me would truly be a pain in the ass."

Kyle laughed softly. "It's true. I've let him get too powerful."

Seeks-the-Moon doffed his hat.

Hanna laughed, and just then the telecom beeped.

Kyle looked at Seeks-the-Moon, then sighed and pulled himself up from the conch. "I'll get it."

"Hate the things," said Seeks-the-Moon to Hanna. "Won't touch 'em."

Kyle sat down at the desk, swung the arm holding the flat screen out to a more comfortable viewing position, and hit the Connect key. William Facile's face appeared on the screen.

"We checked on your 'Desolation Angels'," the ork said, "but no one's got any record of it being a gang name. Not Eagle either or the Feds."

"Any other occurrences?" Kyle asked.

"Yes, an old one. Apparently it was the title of a music disk back eighty years or so. A rock and roll band named Bad Company recorded it. There was also a note that the cover image became a popular design on motorcycle jackets of that era."

"So Melissa Truman may simply have seen Hayward wearing one of these vintage jackets and assumed a gang affiliation."

Facile nodded. "That would be my guess.'

"And what about the Kaleidoscope Club? Anything on that yet?"

"Not really. Just the usual drek. Every organized crime faction in town is said to own it, but it's actually controlled by a local corp called the Caleb Group. They own four clubs."

"Who owns them?"

"They're public. About eight hundred and ninety-two investors."

"Who're the principals?"

"Three people, all with four percent."

Kyle sighed. "Dead end. Nobody with enough ownership worth tracing. I assume they're all legit."

"I'd really rather not bog down Knight Errant's computers conducting background checks on nine hundred people."

"Your call," Kyle said, "but is Linda Hayward on the list of investors?"

Facile blinked, and then reached down to work his computer. A moment later his eyes narrowed. "Yes, she is."

"Great. Let me know who else interesting turns up on that list." Kyle reached for the command keys, said: "I'll check in again later", disconnected, and Facile faded to black. "Interesting," said Hanna.

"Very," Kyle agreed. "Could you do me a favor and have your datapad re-read the profile we got on her."

Hanna nodded and keyed in some commands to the pad. A moment later, it spoke in a clear masculine voice: "Results of a public records search-check on Linda Hayward. Information gathered: one correlation. Linda Kathleen Hayward. Date of birth, 8 March 2029, Rush-Presbyterian Hospital, Chicago. Parents, Nancy Arnold Hayward and John Michael Hayward, deceased 2039. Economic records show employment with Davidion Financial until four years.ago. No registered employment since. Residence records show rented housing at 3121 West George, Chicago, until four years ago. No residence record since. Education records show a degree in management and finance from the University of Illinois, Chicago, 2043. No other records found."

"Again," said Hanna, "not promising."

"It's like information on someone who's slipped off the edge of the world," Kyle mused. "Everything on her is four years old. She's completely dropped out of public record."

"What do you make of it?"

"Well, if we'd found nothing, I'd have said for sure she'd gone over to the shadows," Kyle said.

"Become a shadowrunner?" asked Hanna, almost incredulously. "Is it that easy?"

Kyle laughed. "No. If she were good or smart, there'd be no records by now. They're four years old, which is starting to leave a cold trail. But she's still using her own name." He shrugged. "I just don't know."

He sighed. "But if I run into her at the Kaleidoscope tonight I'll be sure to ask her."

"That wasn't necessary," Kyle told Seeks-the-Moon through the telepathic link they shared as master and ally spirit. Kyle disliked this method of communication with the spirit because, in his own mind, Seeks-the-Moon's voice sounded too much like his own voice. Standing at the rail overlooking the Kaleidoscope's main dance floor, besieged by untold thousands of watts of grinding, pounding, abrasive jet core rock and roll, it was the only way to talk.

The spirit shrugged even though he too spoke telepathically. "The doorman was a joker. We were obviously far more genuine than the fakers he let in ahead of us. I simply proved it."

"You didn't have to burst into flames."

"We're in, aren't we?"

"Yes, but odds are we've been noticed. Being inconspicuous is out of the question."

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted subtlety? It's not the approach you usually favor."

Kyle held up his hand to silence Seeks-the-Moon's bantering. "Okay, okay," he said. "We have a decent idea of who we're looking for, so let's split up and see what we can see."

The spirit shrugged again. "As you wish. If I locate Linda Hayward, should I call you?"

"It would be appreciated."

Seeks-the-Moon stuck his hands in his pockets and moved out through the crowd. Kyle knew the spirit was uncomfortable amid the chaos of music and dancers, but he also knew that Moon's ability to see in both the physical world and the astral one simultaneously would be invaluable in case of danger.

Kyle himself wasn't that comfortable, his musical tastes tending toward subtler techno-phasic harmonies. Jet core was too loud, too dissonant, and, combined with the billions of swirling and spraying multi-colored lights in the club, too fragging frantic.

The crowd was young-older than either Melissa or Mitchell Truman, of course, but by only a few years. There was a younger element, but they tended to orbit each other in small cliques near the edge of the main floor. Kyle wasn't sure if he should simply observe first or start working the crowd for clues to either Linda Hayward or Mitchell Truman.

Below him, the thrashing mass changed its pattern of motion as the music changed beat and pace. He thought he recognized the piece as a version of a more lyrical song from maybe a decade before, but the music wouldn't hold still long enough for him to place it. He moved forward, against the flow of the crowd, toward the bar.

The Kaleidoscope attracted a clientele that apparently considered the "magical" look to be in. He passed a pair of female elves guarded by a troll, but of the three, only the troll seemed real. In their finery, twist-dyed hair, and metallic-flake makeup, the two elves seemed artificial and posed. They ignored him, as bade their pose, while the troll gave him a polite nod. Kyle wondered for a brief moment what the truth behind the three really was.

An ork, garbed as one of the sorcerers from a recent simsense version of the Arabian Knights, threw what seemed a rainbow of color into the air. Kyle didn't need his astral senses to know it was a trick, light refracted through a handful of microcrystals. Fakery, apparently, was all the rage in the Kaleidoscope Cl-

“It would seem I am not alone," said Seeks-the-Moon in Kyle's mind. Turning quickly, Kyle surveyed the club, trying to pick the spirit out from among the throng. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, the young woman near the red neon tube, across from you, is a spirit as well."

Kyle leaned against the rail and strained to see that far across the club. He could make out a cluster of figures near a red neon pillar, but not much else about them. He braced himself against the rail and shifted into astral perception. The room snapped into vivid, energetic focus, a blare of living color and energy. Despite the brilliance, the accumulated energy of the packed dancers and their emotions, there were very few mystical auras to be seen, except by the pillar.

There, Kyle picked out two powerful auras, neither masked. Both were females and they strobed with real, primal power. Spirits manifest in human form.

"Can you get a good look at them." Kyle asked through the mental link.

"No, and I don't think I should get any closer. They, like me, will have dual sight. I don't think you wish me to alert them to our presence."

"You're right. Let me try and get closer." Kyle let his physical senses return and moved quickly around the outer rim of the dance floor, keeping his eye on the red pillar. He was nearly there when Seeks-the-Moon spoke again.

"One of the two has moved away," the spirit said. "She is heading toward the rear of the club."

"Can you follow her?" asked Kyle, trying to push his way, through the crowd without causing an incident.

"I believe so, but how daring do you wish me to be?"

"Could she be Linda Hayward?"

"Not unless she's disguised. This one is black."

"Follow her if you can."

"I will."

The red-tinted faces of the revelers signaled Kyle's proximity to the tube. He paused a moment and centered himself, boosting his own shielding, and perhaps most important, the masking that dampened his mystical aura. But if this woman, whoever she was, was as powerful as her own masked aura implied, he doubted his attempts to suppress his own would be very successful. He circled left, to come up behind her.

Her hair was the same color as the unnatural light, her flesh pale and waxen. The clothing she wore seemed to be real leather, dark and glossy, tight up along her long legs and then loose in the form of a vest across her back and shoulders. Her arms were bare, except for coppery bracelets on each wrist.

What slowed him, just for a moment, was the image on the back of her vest. It was the figure of an angel, definitely feminine and vengeful. One of the arms was extended upward, toward the sky, and wielded a bright sword. The other gestured downward across one hip, modestly hiding what the tattered rags of her clothing did not. The angel's face, rimmed by a halo of shining hair, was downturned, but her gaze looked outward-direct, provocative, and challenging.' The words "Desolation Angels" arched over the angel and across the woman's shoulder blades.

"Desolation Angels," Kyle told Seeks-the-Moon. "Emblazoned across her back."

"This one has the same thing," the spirit replied, "though I haven't been able to see her-slot!"

Now Kyle paused. "What?"

"She just went into the rest room," came Seeks-the-Moon's voice. "I don't dare follow her in. That would get me too close."

“Then wait her out," Kyle had already started walking toward the 0ther woman again. "Let's see what I can do with one."

"Is it Linda Hayward?"

"No." Kyle stepped up alongside her, suddenly wishing he had a drink in his hand. He looked out over the dance floor for a moment and then casually to his left.

The woman's hair hung loosely down and across one shoulder and this close he could see that it was actually red, but very light, almost blond. Her eyes were large and round, the color of emeralds, her mouth was small but expressive, the lips a color like blood. Her gaze shifted and she eyed him with amused disinterest He noticed a black choker around her neck. Set against it in gold was a single pale gem.

He smiled, let his gaze wander away and then back again to her. Her smile widened ever so slightly and her lips parted the barest distance. Then she closed her eyes and slowly leaned back against the red neon pillar.

Kyle tensed. Had he been looking at another magician, he'd have taken her actions as a sure sign she was astrally projecting, releasing her spirit to roam on the astral plane. But Seeks-the-Moon had said she was a "spirit like him. Not only could she not astrally project, having no true body from which to separate her spirit, but neither did she need any because she could see into both congruent realms without effort.

"Moon," he said quietly in his mind.

"Yes?"

"Can you see me from where you are?"

"Yes, I can."

"What's she doing?" Kyle asked, hazarding a glance at her. She hadn't moved.

"Nothing," said the spirit. "At least as far as I can tell."

"Ah," said Kyle.

"Worried?"

"Yes."

"You're closer," Seeks-the-Moon said. "You can tell more than I."

"I can't risk revealing myself."

Kyle looked at her again, but for all he could see, she was frozen there. A waitress moved nearer to him through the crowd. Deciding, he stepped in closer to her and carefully placed his hand on her bare upper arm. Her flesh, in stark contrast to the room, was cool.

Her eyes opened and she regarded him without expression.

Kyle managed a smile, pushing back an unfocused, growing unease. "Can I buy you a drink?" he said as smoothly as was possible while half-shouting over the din.

Her expression did not change. "Why?" She did not raise her voice, forcing him to partially read her lips.

"It's so warm in here. I thought maybe you were thirsty."

"I am," she said, and he was about to gesture for the waitress when her words and her strong hand on his wrist stopped him. "But I don't want a drink."

He paused, his body temperature dropping suddenly at her touch, then rising again. "What can I get you?"

She smiled. "Nothing tonight."

"Then can I-"

She let go of his wrist and began moving away. "Good night." She was walking toward the rear of the club.

"Moon!" Kyle said mentally, moving quickly to keep up with her, yet staying far enough back to duck for cover into the crowd if she turned suddenly.

"Yes?”

"She's; coming your way along the rail."

Ahead of him, Kyle could just make out the figure of the woman as she approached the ladies room and then went in.

"She went in," Kyle told Moon.

"Come and guard me. I'm going to try and get a look in there."

A moment later Seeks-the-Moon appeared alongside his master. "Just like the old days, yes?"

"Quiet" Kyle snapped. "I'm going to use a far-sight spell to have a look-see. They shouldn't be able to notice, regardless of how powerful they are."

"Presumably."

Kyle looked at him. "What do you mean, presumably?"

The spirit shrugged. "We don't know exactly what we're dealing with."

Kyle nodded. "Guard me." He stepped back against a support column. The casting wouldn't require the special concentration of using his astral senses, but he wanted to be careful.

The forces of magic swirled around him. He reached out with his mind and began shaping them, connecting them to his own aura, to those elements of himself that dealt with sight. He created a node of mystical energy, the new center-point for his vision, and projected it forward, past the crowd, past the closed door, and into the room.

It was large and bright. Mirrored counters lined half of each wall, strip-lights tacked to the wall above them casting a hard, sharp light over the women lined up there. All the spaces were taken, and even more women waited their turn near the overflowing trash bins. An attendant was standing by, but apparently chose to ignore the obvious illegal dealings going on in the first toilet stall. There were about two dozen stalls, all at the rear of the room. All were in use, with at least one woman awaiting entrance. There was no sign of either of the female spirits.

Cursing to himself, Kyle willed his sight forward as one of the stall doors opened and women changed places. He paused a moment, uncertain, and then lifted his point of view to quickly scan the interior of the stalls on the left side.

Neither of the two women were in any of the stalls. He shifted over to the side and did the same.

Not there, either.

Cursing again, Kyle cast modesty aside and carefully checked each stall's occupant at eye level before searching through the rest of the room again.

The two spirits simply were not there.

He dropped the spell.

"Gone?” asked Seeks-the-Moon.

"Yes."

"I feared as much. I was watching, but no spirits came out."

They must have ducked out through the rear wall. I think there's an alley back there. They wouldn't risk being seen moving through the crowd."

"So what do we do now?"

"Now," said Kyle, "we tell the Trumans that I'm getting worried."