"The Better Part of Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gay Kelly)

CHAPTER 7

“What are you using him for?” I still didn’t like the fact that the man I’d held in such high regard was using another living being for science.

“Well,” Titus said, leaning forward, eager to talk shop. “As you know, the nobility from both dimensions are the most powerful, the hardest to defeat. The Nitro-guns and Hefties I created for law enforcement do nothing but stun them for a moment, even on high settings. With Llyran, I’m searching for a way to neutralize his power. In essence, to make him like us long enough, I’m hoping, to catch and detain. The hard part is identifying the genes that give him his power and then creating a viable weapon capable of attacking or subduing those genes. So far we’ve been successful at large force field containment, which is how Llyran was caught, but out in the field, as you know, a serviceable, easy-to-use weapon will make all the difference.”

I was suitably impressed. Without Titus Mott and his inventions, we’d never have a fighting chance. Of course, if it hadn’t been for his meddling and eventual discovery of Elysia and Charbydon, the off-worlders never would’ve come out of the woodwork and into mainstream society. At least he was trying to make up for it now.

“Sounds like you have your work cut out for you,” I finally said.

He dipped his head in agreement and then took a long drink of his soda. “So what brings you to my lab, Detective?”

Here it comes.

I drew in a deep breath. “Actually—” Just breathe. It’s no big deal. “I was hoping you could tell me about that night.” Goose bumps lifted the hairs on my arms. “The night I died.”

Thank God. I’d gotten the words out. The small of my back grew hot. I resisted the urge to rub my arms and instead focused on Mott. I was a detective, after all. Part of my job was to study body language, and it was hell of a lot easier to focus on him and forget about my own haywire reactions.

His elbows settled on his knees, which touched the edge of the coffee table. He tapped two fingers on the table. “Wow.”

I bristled. “Wow, what?”

After a thoughtful pause, he said, “After all these months, I didn’t think … just a surprise, that’s all.” He scratched his stubble, studying me with candid, scientific thoroughness. “Well, you’re looking none the worse for wear.”

“Thanks.” I think. I studied him, too, intrigued by the contrasts. Maturity and purpose burned in his eyes, but the rest of him appeared casual and slightly offbeat. He bit his cheek, thinking.

“How about you tell me if there’s something specific you’d like to know. Oh, hold on; let me turn on my recorder.” He jumped up, brought back a small voice recorder, and placed it on the coffee table.

“Um, I—”

He settled into the cushions, his entire face illuminated with anticipation. I could easily picture him rubbing his hands together in mad scientist glee. “Among other things, I’ve been researching out-of-body experiences, dying, and resurrection. You don’t mind, do you?”

Yeah, I did, but he seemed so excited about hearing what I had to say. “No, it’s fine.”

“Terrific.” He pushed the record button. “Ready when you are.”

The nerves returned thanks to that little black box on the table. Mott wasn’t what I’d expected, and the Adonai across the room was still staring. I tried to ignore it and get over my fear of talking about that night, but it was harder than I thought.

Maybe I should have taken that drink after all. My mouth had gone bone dry. Oh, for God’s sake, Charlie, just do it. Deep breath a-a-a-nd go …

“I’ve been having nightmares ever since you brought me back,” I forced out in one breath. “I thought it was just a dream, but I’m beginning to wonder whether some of it actually happened that night, after I died.”

“Like a repressed memory.”

“Right. Do you remember anyone else being in the room with you when you were there?”

“You think someone else was there?”

“You tell me.”

He sat back and shrugged. “There were lots of people. In and out. Doctors, nurses. Your partner. I couldn’t possibly remember them all.”

“But you were left alone with me, when they all gave up. It was just you. You kept trying.” He nodded. “And no one came in then, during that time?”

“Charlie.” He shifted to look at me squarely, his knee bumping into mine. “Often those who experience near-death see people—loved ones, beings they describe as angels or even God. Is that what you saw?”

“No, it was more like the devil,” I muttered, frustrated. “Sorry.” I rubbed my face with both hands and let out a tired exhale. “I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not anymore. I thought I saw someone earlier tonight who looked like the man in my dream. I don’t know. Maybe it was just a close resemblance, or maybe I’d seen him before the near-death.”

Mott’s hand on my knee brought the direction of my thoughts back to him. “Trauma leaves all manner of scars, some unseen.” He lifted his comforting hand, leaving a cold spot where warmth had just been. Inventor’s hands; stained with ink and covered in cuts, scratches, and calluses, both old and new. “How have you been feeling physically since then?”

“Exhausted. I wake and feel like I’ve been up all night working.”

“Anything else?” he asked in a tone that tried too hard to be casual.

I straightened in the chair. “Why?”

“Often, in the cases I’ve studied so far, residual effects can linger on a person. Psychic energy. An awakening of sorts. Your brush with death, assuming you had a near-death experience—which by all accounts you seem to be saying you had—could’ve caused you to come back with a new awareness, added intuition, a stronger sixth sense … things like that.”

Made sense, I guess. Who was I to say it wasn’t possible? Hell, obviously, I’d come back with something. Something akin to a war inside me. Something that gave me the strength to kill one minute and the ability to heal the next.

“Are you experiencing a greater psychic awareness?”

Did he mean was I more intuitive, could I sense people’s emotions more easily than before? “Yes. But there are other things. I’m stronger. I heal faster than normal.” I thought of the green flash I saw briefly around Aaron in The Bath House. “I think I’m starting to see auras or flashes of color around people … I know. I’ve lost my mind, right?”

“No, no, you haven’t. Who’s to say what happens during this sort of experience? We still don’t know. How’s your health?”

“Fine. I haven’t been sick in a long time. Just tired.” He couldn’t help me. My hope deflated. He didn’t know any more about near-death than I did. “Are you sure no one else came into the room?”

Mott shook his head and gave me a sorry half-smile. I felt more frustrated than ever. I stood, eager to get out of the lab. The Adonai on the table hadn’t stopped staring the entire time, that small, cruel smile still playing on his lips. When I rose, I turned my back to him and focused on Mott. “Thanks for seeing me, Doctor Mott.”

“Please, just Titus,” he said, standing. “My parents were both historians. Had a thing for Latin names.”

I smiled.

He motioned me from his living room. “I enjoyed seeing you again, Detective. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. But I’d like for you to come by for a thorough examination. We may yet find a reason for your symptoms. Please schedule it with Andy on your way out.”

I nodded and had to turn toward Llyran to step around the chair. Briefly, our eyes connected. His grin widened, but I looked away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. The guy was a serial killer and deserved whatever the hell Mott was doing to him. “Don’t be a stranger, Charlie Madigan,” he called, enjoying whatever mind game he was playing. Probably got off on it, the sicko.

My eyelids grew heavy on the drive home. It was past 2A.M. The road stretched out before me, monotonous and empty save for a few stragglers like myself. Lulled by the quiet hum of the car, my emotions reared to the surface. Defeat pricked my ego and spread sour, like heartburn, through my chest.

I was changing inside, and I needed help. I just didn’t know where to turn.

Hank and Bryn had repeatedly offered, but I couldn’t bring myself to draw them into whatever was going on with me. I didn’t want them to see me as any different than the way I used to be before I died. Me. Charlie Madigan. Detective. Human. Mother. Now it seemed I barely resembled myself.

No, I couldn’t go to them; somebody in my life had to see me normally. I needed that kind of stability. My fingers flexed on the steering wheel, and I had to consciously stop myself from squeezing so tight. I should’ve made an appointment with Andy on the way out of the lab, but it hadn’t felt right. I kept thinking of Llyran—I didn’t want to be Titus Mott’s latest lab rat.

In my line of work I was privy to all manner of supernatural beings and experts. Maybe I could find someone neutral, someone who could be objective, someone powerful and knowledgeable enough to know exactly what my problem was. A few names floated around in my head as I hit the blinker to turn onto my street. Unfortunately, I’d pissed off most of them enough times that they’d probably shut the door in my face.

A group of people blocked the street up ahead directly in front of my house. There were bright lights, a camera van, and people with signs. Immediately I hit the lights and pulled the Tahoe to the curb. A couple of my neighbors were walking to or from the scene. A few patrol cars blocked the street and officers were trying to keep order. This couldn’t be good. I turned up my scanner and listened.

Someone had thrown a brick through my window.

The police had been called. Then the media.

Now the jinn, with CPP support, were picketing my house.

This was total bullshit. I got out of the car, tugged on my jacket, flipped the collar, and walked casually toward my house, somewhat hidden by the darkness and the row of cars parked along the street across from the house. With every step my anger grew. I loved our little bungalow, and those assholes were trampling all over the lawn, in the flower beds, and some soon-to-be-hurting jerk-off had broken my front window. I stopped behind a parked car, careful not to draw attention from the two jinn stationed near the house. They were looking, hoping I’d show up, hoping, I realized, to issue a summons from Grigori Tennin. Great. Couldn’t they have waited until morning, at least?

A line of officers pushed some of the more irate picketers off my lawn and onto the sidewalk. They were mostly jinn elders and females, goblins, imps, and human sympathizers.

A CPP representative was giving an interview in front of my house. Otorius. The reporter was a human from Channel Two News.

“This kind of police brutality cannot be tolerated. We have rights. We are legal citizens. This incident was nothing but discrimination. Detective Madigan killed three members of our society. She beat two of them to death. The CPP is demanding she be held in custody until an internal investigation is complete.”

I slinked back into the shadows, wanting nothing more than to wring Otorius’s neck. This reeked of political agenda. The nobles saw an opportunity and they’d jumped. Damned if I’d be a scapegoat, and I certainly hadn’t done anything wrong.

As I went to head back to the car, a strong hand gripped my arm and pulled me into the shadows of a live oak. “Goddammit, Madigan, have you lost your fucking mind coming here?”

A sigh of relief tore through me. I released my hand from the gun under my jacket, and swallowed down my shock. “Chief.”

“If they see you here, it’s going to be a bloodbath for one.”

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. He was dressed in street clothes and a black leather jacket, his hands shoved into the pockets, looking for all the world like a retired heavyweight world champ you would not want to mess with. One who was presently glaring at me with a full-blown frown set in his wide face. I knew him well enough, though, to know the glare really meant worry.

He pulled me farther under the canopy of oak limbs and Spanish moss, his dark eyes darting to the crowd and then back to me. “I’m getting pressure to bring you in, Charlie. The head of the CPP has been calling my cell for the last two hours.”

“I don’t understand. How—”

“Someone had a video phone in Underground. Your little smackdown with the jinn is all over the news.”

I leaned forward, trying to keep my voice down. “They attacked me. One of them killed Auggie.”

“I know, but the footage. It’s brutal, Charlie. It’s all over the Internet, too. And it doesn’t show them attacking you.”

My cheeks went hot. Indignation swelled my chest. “No. Of course it doesn’t. They’re setting me up.”

“Listen,” he said, pausing as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the display. “I can buy you a couple of days; try to find some witnesses who can prove the jinn attacked first. But you gotta lay low until this thing is resolved. The CPP will drag this out until the very end.”

“Yeah, and in the meantime they’re going to paint their entire race as victims of prejudice and abuse.”

“This is all just politics. Give it a few days and they’ll find something else to keep them in the spotlight.”

My fists clenched hard. That this was happening to me … Me! I shook my head, staring across the baseball field. I wasn’t a bad officer. I’d never taken a bribe, looked the other way, or committed unwarranted abuse against any criminal or suspect in my custody.

“Watch your back, Charlie. Grigori Tennin will issue a summons. Two of the jinn you killed were local tribesmen.”

“I know. So much for their whole law-abiding citizen routine.”

“Yeah, and if you can’t pay their death price, poof. No body. No evidence. No crime. That’s how they work, and the last thing I want is to find out you’ve gone missing ’cause we both know you don’t have the cash or the clout to pay off a blood debt like this.”

“Gee, thanks.”

If a tribe member was injured or killed and the offender couldn’t reimburse the tribe with what Grigori Tennin decided was a fair trade or price, a blood debt was issued. So far, the ITF had been unable to find any evidence of foul play other than word on the street and missing persons reports. We did the best we could, but it was impossible to pin a crime on anyone when there was no evidence, despite the fact that we all knew the jinn still kept to their warlike ways, and each tribe was territorial and unforgiving.

Atlanta’s jinn population answered to Grigori Tennin, and it had been that way since the tribe was established here. Most big cities had several tribes, but Atlanta had one. One that was absolute. No jinn made Atlanta home without Tennin’s approval.

Like I didn’t have enough to deal with already. Now I had to worry about being pulled off the street in order to answer to Grigori, not to mention retribution from the rogues, vigilantes, and sympathizers out there, no doubt whipped into a frenzy after all the media attention.

The chief’s big hand squeezed my shoulder. “I know,” he said quietly. “Like I said, lay low. Stay away from the house and let me handle the CPP. You did nothing wrong, Charlie. I know that. The department knows that.” He grabbed my hand and curled my fingers over a set of car keys. “Go to my house and take my nephew’s car. It’s the red one. He’s doing a semester in South Africa right now. You leave your car. I’ll drive it to the station tomorrow. Make sure no one follows you. And for God’s sake, stay away from the hospital and Amanda Mott. And you might as well stay away from Hank, too. Tennin will probably have someone on him.”

I nodded, squeezing the keys until they bit into my palm. My voice caught. “Thanks, Chief.”

“Just don’t attract any angry jinn and that’ll be thanks enough.”

He hunched his wide shoulders and walked down the sidewalk away from my house and away from the direction of my car. I headed the other way, making sure to keep my steps slow and unhurried. My heart pounded. All I could think was that someone had seen me, and was following. I had to get to the car and get to Bryn’s as soon as possible.

In the chief’s driveway, I slipped inside the sporty red Mustang GT, turned the ignition, leaving the lights off, and backed out into the street, hoping I hadn’t woken his wife, Anne-Marie. I shoved the car in gear and headed for Underground.

The parking on Alabama Street had thinned out, allowing me to find a spot near the entrance to Underground. The bars and clubs closed at 4A.M. If my luck held, the only people passing by would be inebriated stragglers and tired waitstaff. Too tired or drunk to notice me or care.

Hopefully, no one would think to look for me here, a few stores up from the scene of the crime. Bad thing was I’d probably be more recognized down here by the off-worlders than in the ’burbs. But I didn’t know where else to go. It was late. I couldn’t think straight and had to find a safe place to rest and regroup.

And I desperately needed to see Emma. Just to kiss her while she slept, tuck the covers more securely around her, and watch her for a few minutes. She could center me. Just looking at her reminded me of my priorities, my strength, my purpose.

Underground at this time of night was eerily quiet—a time when your footsteps echoed louder than normal and shadows grew at every turn. I walked at a fast clip across the dimly lit promenade and then down Mercy Street. A few waitresses passed by, but they were in too much of a hurry to get home to notice me. There was a police officer, waiting for the manager to lock the pub across the street and take his money to the bank. Another group headed down my side of the street, but I’d already come to Bryn’s door, next to the shop, and was able to turn my back to them as I pressed the buzzer.

I had to press four times before she finally answered. She never answered before that because jerks and drunks were known to walk by and randomly press buzzers.

“Who is it?” she asked in sleepy stereo.

“It’s Charlie.” I glanced over my shoulder, making sure no one watched. The door buzzed. I turned the knob and pushed.

Bryn’s entrance was just a stairwell to a second-floor landing and another door, which led into her apartment over the shop. The door opened before I reached the landing. Bryn stood in the doorway, hands shoved into a cotton waffle-weave robe. Sleep had tangled her loose hair and swollen the delicate skin around her eyes, making her look young and vulnerable. Like my kid sister.

“What’s wrong?” She moved aside to let me in.

A small lamp in the living room was on. It was quiet here, too. The shades were drawn, but warmth still surrounded this place, like always. I slid off my jacket and began removing my firearms, setting them on the table in the foyer. Bryn moved into the adjoining kitchen and began making a pot of decaf, yawning as she filled the carafe with water.

I slid onto one of the kitchen counter stools. “How’s Em?”

“Good. She did her homework with Will and then we went to visit Amanda at the hospital. I hope that was okay. I know you don’t want Em to worry, but I think it made her feel better to go.” I gave a nod of agreement, wishing I could’ve gone too. “We ate dinner, Em took a shower. Everything’s fine. She’s fine.” Bryn hit the brew button and then turned toward me. “You on the other hand … What happened?”

I let my arms slide over the cool surface of the countertop, wanting nothing more than to lay my head down and drift off to sleep. “The CPP is calling for my arrest after what happened this morning. They’re picketing my house. I can’t go home right now.” I didn’t mention the jinn debt. Bryn knew the score. I let my head fall onto my arm. “I just want this all to be over with.”

Thankfully, she didn’t mention the debt. Instead she went to the fridge and pulled out some cheddar cheese and jalapenos, and then a bag of tortilla chips from the pantry. Comfort food. She spread the chips on a plate. “Do you think Emma is safe? Should she go to school tomorrow?” She sprinkled a generous portion of cheese onto the chips and then added the sliced jalapenos.

“Yeah, security is tight at the school. But I’ll have an officer go over in the morning to keep an eye out. You want an escort?”

She lifted her chin and fixed me with a frank look. “I know it’s hard to fathom, but I can take care of us.” At that, she put the plate into the microwave. Once it was melting the cheese, she turned back to the fridge and got out salsa and sour cream. Her face was stern as she grabbed two small bowls.

“What about you, Charlie? What about earlier? You killed three jinn and then healed yourself. How long do you think you can keep ignoring what’s going on?” She stood in front of the counter, both hands braced in front of her.

I raised my head and straightened my spine. I was too tired to deal with this right now. “Bryn—”

“No, don’t,” she said. “Don’t ‘Bryn’ me, okay? You almost died today. Again. I’m sick of you being like this, Charlie! I’m your sister. And I’m sure as hell not stupid enough to believe whatever excuse you’re about to throw at me. What? You can handle it? You can figure it out … alone?” Her voice rose, but tempered enough not to wake Emma. The microwave beeped, but she ignored it. “Stop being an idiot. Stop acting like you have no one, that no one is good enough or has the ability to help you. Get off your goddamn high horse, for once.”

The microwave beeped again. I stared wide-eyed, stunned by her outburst.

High horse?

My ego wasn’t that big to think no one could help me. Was it? Was that what she really thought? Was that what everyone else thought, too?

The plate of nachos slid onto the counter with a slight rattle. Bryn’s cheeks were mottled pink as she grabbed one, shoved it into the sour cream and then into her mouth. She even chewed angry. “Have some before they get cold,” she mumbled, leaning into the corner of the counter and taking another one.

Automatically, I did. The first bite of melted cheese, salty nacho, and hot pepper made me realize that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. My stomach let out an eager growl.

“Connor had gifted blood, too,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You always denied it, but he did. Just like you deny yours.”

The mention of our brother closed my throat and brought a sting of tears to my eyes. Bryn handed me a bottled water from the fridge. The cold liquid soothed my throat and helped temper my emotions. “Can we not talk about him?”

She sighed. “You never want to talk about anything.”

“That’s not true.”

“Uh, yeah it is. You’ve never talked about him; you do know that, right? You keep it all to yourself.” She blinked back sudden tears. Her lips trembled. “I loved him, too. Don’t you think I deserve to know what he felt, what he said to you the day he died?” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and threw her hands in the air. “You know something, Charlie? You do whatever you want, and you never think about anyone but yourself. It’d be too hard for you to talk, too hard for you to ask for help … Does it ever occur to you that the rest of us feel left out, not a part of your little one-woman club?” She paced in front of the counter, gave one last huff, shot me a glare, and then said, “Forget it. I’m going to bed.”

What the hell?

Her door shut softly, and I stared at it for a long time, a chip in my hand, paused in midair. Bryn never went off like that. And more startling were her words—words that hit my very heart and made it face truths I didn’t want it to. I wasn’t selfish. How could she say that? But even as I convinced myself of my innocence, I knew she was right. I’d always told myself that I kept things locked away because it would only hurt her. Better she didn’t know. Better she didn’t get involved in my current state. Better for whom? Who was I to decide that for her?

God, you’re a dumbass sometimes.

The last ones in the world I’d ever hurt were my family. But I had. I’d hurt my sister without even realizing it.

I ate another chip, wondering why I felt like I had to carry all my burdens alone. That question rolled around my mind as I finished the nachos and then cleaned up. We hadn’t touched the coffee. Typical.

I sat on the couch and removed my shoes, sitting back for a moment to wiggle my toes and let my muscles finally relax. My mind, however, was filled with self-loathing and analyzing. Hell, maybe I deserved to carry my burdens alone. Maybe it was my penance.

I should have listened to my brother’s voice in my head the day he died.

He cried out to me, and I didn’t listen.

Connor and I were more than your average twins. Bryn was right, he had gifted blood, but then so did I when it came to Connor. From our earliest memories, Connor and I could hear each other’s thoughts. As children it was fun. But, as teenagers, we routinely blocked each other out. I mean, who wants to hear lusty teenage boy thoughts or share your secret crush? We’d gotten good at blocking. And I’d gotten good at denying we were special. As a teenager all I wanted was to fit in, not stand out. Especially in a bad way. I’d seen how people had treated my clairvoyant grandmother before the Revelation. Called her a kook, a liar, a weirdo … So when Connor called to me, I’d blocked him out as usual. I didn’t know he was about to die, that he was trying to ask for my help to save him.

He died because I didn’t listen.

Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes. I swiped them away, feeling the familiar anguish of Connor’s death return. With a heavy heart, I stood and forced the grief back into the far recesses of my mind, telling myself that I’d had enough for one day.

Emma’s room was dark, save for the street light outside making the blinds glow like a night-light. It hurt even more to see her sleeping there, curled up, the covers tucked underneath her chin, which jutted out straight and proud, her lips squashed together and her cheek bunched against her pillow. I loved her so much. I didn’t want to hurt her or eventually tune her out like I’d done with Bryn.

I removed my jeans and undid my bra, pulling it out through the sleeve in my shirt, and then slid onto the full-size bed, curling next to her. Instinctively, she snuggled into me, grabbed my arm, and pulled it around her to hold on to it like one of her stuffed animals she slept with at home. My body relaxed. The smell of her hair lingered on the pillows and sheets and low in the air above the bed, and the scent of her skin was still reminiscent of the powdery baby smell of newborns.

My eyelids drifted closed. My breathing slowed. Just a little bit of sleep. Until morning.