Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) (72 page)

Bracing himself for the harsh welcome that was sure to come, Rook headed up the gentle slope to the split-timber sweat lodge. The building must have been constructed by hand, how their ancestors had, before the white man came and messed everything up. Rook might have appreciated the effort if he weren’t in black loafers with hay kernels in the folds of his shirt.

Rook opened the thatched door and entered the lodge. He waited a moment until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Rook knew that he was supposed to strip bare, dip himself in sacred water, but he just didn’t have the time… or inclination.

Perspiration beaded on his forehead as he walked deeper into the lodge. Several older Native Americans sat cross-legged, still as statues, as they sweat out their worries. The central fire was stoked high as the heat pressed in on Rook. People really found this relaxing?

But Rook put all that aside and found the person he came for. Younger by three decades than the others, Tomahawk’s burnished skin glistened from the sweat. His long hair fell straight past his shoulders. He was like a warrior from a politically correct Disney movie.

Sighing, Rook could delay no longer. He headed straight across the lodge and stood before his former teammate. “Tomahawk.”

The man slowly opened his eyes. Recognition registered, but then Tomahawk closed his eyes again, taking in a deep breath and letting it out again.

“Really?” Rook asked. “You really want to do this here?”

Tomahawk must not have as he silently rose, standing a good three inches taller than Rook. Damn, he’s forgotten just how tall the guy was. Not that Beauty didn’t stop talking about it, of course, but Rook had the whole “you are dead to me” thing tuning her out. Which Rook wished that he could have kept up, but when Savage sounded worried, he knew he would have to break a personal vow or two.

As they exited the building, Tomahawk grabbed a coarse towel and wrapped it around his waist. Rapidly, they climbed the rest of the hill until they came upon a small cabin perched upon the plateau. Tomahawk didn’t need a key to open the unlocked door and ushered them into the spartan interior. Rook glanced about. There were a few candles, a table, a chair, and a log-framed bed. Except for the fireplace and a few cooking utensils, that was it.

“I knew you were on a back-to-nature kick, but what happened to all your toys, Tommi? Where’s your laptop? Your tablet?”

Tomahawk tugged on a pair of jeans. “Computers no longer dominate my world, Rook.”

“Yeah, but damn, not even high-speed Internet?”

After donning a shirt, Tomahawk turned toward Rook. His tone was flat. There seemed to be no anger. Nor was there a hint of familiarity. “I am going to ask you once to leave my home and never come back.”

“Ah, you are so sweet for asking, but
no
,” Rook replied.

Rook honestly wasn’t ready when Tomahawk lunged at him, knocking him back and pinning him to the floor.

“So much for your oath of nonviolence, dude,” Rook said, just before he coughed from the impact.

“You bastard!” Tomahawk growled.

“Now, technically, my parents
were
married when I was—”

Tomahawk bounced the back of Rook’s head against the solid wood floor. “How dare you come here? How dare you—”

Okay. Rook had enough of the “how-dare-yous.” Locking his leg over Tomahawk, Rook used his elbow for leverage and tipped Tomahawk over, slamming the weekend warrior’s head against the wood. Tomahawk may have had the advantage in superior strength, but Rook had been out in the field battling hell’s reject. He had some skills of his own.

“In the last twenty-four hours I have played chess for my soul, been hounded by hell’s welcome wagon, and schlepped across the jungle while Beauty complained about her heels,” Rook listed, and then took a breath. “So I would
not
push me.”

With that off his chest, Rook released Tomahawk, who sprang to his feet and began pacing the small cabin.

“Let’s just get down to business,” Rook said, but Tomahawk did not stop. “We are kind of on a tight timetable here, so—”

“The answer is ‘no.’ No matter what it is,” Tomahawk stated rather defiantly. “The end of the world. The raising of Atlantis. I am
out
.”

Rook sat down on the bed, checking his hands for splinters. “I wasn’t asking, Tommi.” He looked up to find Tomahawk glaring at him. “We both know that when I push, people fall.”

“I’m done with being blackmailed, Rook. I’ve confessed about the hacking. I’ve—”

Rook shook his head. “That’s old news. I am looking into the new millennium.” Rook dug around in his coat pocket and pulled out several sheets of paper. “I heard that they discovered uranium on your reservation.”

Tomahawk eyed him suspiciously. “And?”

“After what happened to the tribe in Montana? Two-headed babies are something only a mother could love…but even then…”

Rook thought it had been kind of funny, but Tomahawk frowned. “Don’t toy with me, Rook.”

“Who is toying?” Rook said as he stood. “This is flat-out extortion. Help me, and I will help you.”

Finally, Tomahawk took the offered papers. He scanned them quickly. “How do I even know if these are legit?”

“I am many things, but I am not…” Rook thought about it, though. “Okay, I guess I am a forger too, but those are for real. Permanent transfer of the mineral rights to the tribe for the entire reservation
and
all lands upstream.”

Rook watched as Tomahawk soaked in the implications of the deed. Rook pressed his advantage. “Think about it. No more worrying about the corporations stripping your land and leaving you with the biohazard wasteland. No more Bureau of Land Management officials making shady deals in back rooms—leaving your tribe to foot the bill.”

Still, Tomahawk did not seem completely convinced.

“Come on,” Rook taunted. “What is the worst that can happen?”

Tomahawk lowered the papers and glared at Rook. “Let’s see? I could be killed, and my people become slaves to a demon-worshipping cult?”

“Well, yeah, but besides that…”

Tomahawk looked at the papers, and then offered them back to Rook. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Rook was about to argue when a keening wail rose from the sweat lodge. Crap. He knew that keening wail. They rushed to the front door to see men tumble, bloody, out of the lodge.

Tomahawk turned on Rook. “So help me, if this is your fault.…”

“Hey, I told you we were on a tight timetable.”

Another shriek, and a Shivate priestess in full battle armor strode from the lodge. Rook urged Tomahawk toward the garage. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“No, we’ve got to—”

Rook held Tomahawk’s gaze. “The best thing for your people is for us to lead it away.”

The logic must have penetrated Tomahawk’s hostility, because he crouched down and made his way along the wall.

“What’s a Shivate doing here, anyway?” Tomahawk demanded.

“Oh,” Rook said as he followed closely. “Did I forget to mention that I killed one of her sisters yesterday?”

Tomahawk looked furious, but kept sprinting toward the garage. A turn of the knob, and they were inside. Tomahawk threw Rook the keys to the dark SUV parked inside.

“Rev it up.”

But Rook threw the keys back. “You know better than that.”

Exasperated, Tomahawk got into the driver’s seat. “How do you have the ability to call forth the elements, but haven’t learned to drive?”

Rook opened the large garage door when a Shivate came at him. In a single swift motion, Rook pulled his knife and lanced it across her green, mottled face. She lurched to the side, screaming as Tomahawk gunned the engine and floored it backward, not stopping for Rook. With a well-placed kick, Rook knocked the demon away and used the momentum to jump, at least halfway, in the passenger-side window.

Climbing in the tight opening, Rook scowled at Tomahawk. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to ditch me.”

CHAPTER 5

Rook shielded his eyes from the sun as they exited the LAX terminal. Who would have thought that smog would be so damned bright? Tomahawk walked next to him, complaining, again.

“I really needed that coupler and replay switch.”

Rook shrugged. “I told you to carry it on.”

“I would have, if our bags weren’t so filled with your junk.”

How a private plane could lose luggage truly was a mystery. Between lost bags and lost socks in the dryer, Rook had more than enough proof that black holes, albeit minute ones, did exist.

They arrived at the curb, but no Beauty. Hopefully, she had arranged for a Bentley or a Rolls Royce. Maybe that would get Tomahawk to quit whining.

“Junk?” Rook asked, raising an eyebrow. “These bags hold the key to our survival.”

“Yeah, right,” Tomahawk snorted. “The massage oil and bananas?”

Rook searched the crush of cars, taxis, and buses that jockeyed for position like hogs at a feeding trough. “You’ve got your hobbies. I’ve got—”

A loud
honk
cut Rook off. The source of the obnoxious sound was an extremely old station wagon with fake wood paneling and a Woodstock bumper sticker. The driver maneuvered between a taxi and a parking shuttle to pull up at the curb. What the…?

A dark hand with zebra-print fingernails waved from the driver’s side. With a frown, Rook approached the car. Sure enough, it was his Arranger at the wheel.

“Um… Beauty?” Tomahawk asked.

“Don’t ask. Just get in.”

“But—”

Beauty waved her chipped fingernails at him. “Just don’t.”

“You heard the woman,” Rook said to Tomahawk as they moved to the rear of the car. Opening the rear hatch, they found Chad bound and gagged by a piece of duct tape. His left eye was bruised a dark purple, and he had a gash on his lip. Rook glanced toward the front seat, and found a set of very pissed off eyes in the rearview mirror.

* * *

Beauty held up her one remaining intact nail. “I said, ‘don’t.’ “

As the men loaded their gear into the car, Beauty leaned over and gave Tomahawk a peck on the cheek.

“Beauty,” he said as he returned the gesture, “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

She shushed him as she drove the car into the Byzantine traffic. “Oh, please. I would see you under any circumstances, hon.”

Beauty went to push her bangs back, but got a nail caught in her weave. It took several awkward attempts to get it out, and in the process, she nearly ran over an old lady.

“So, I take it that the rendezvous at the safe house didn’t go quite as planned?” Rook asked from the backseat.

“You can say that again,” Beauty said, daring Rook to question her any further. “And I couldn’t exactly drag him in for a mani-pedi with me.”

“Is everything else ready?”

Beauty glared at them in the rearview mirror. She might need an emergency makeover, but she did her job. Rook must have read her expression correctly. He pointed to the freeway sign. “Great. Take the 405 North.”

Beauty didn’t turn off her right-hand blinker, although she was not quite certain it actually worked. “But the warehouse is to the south.”

This time, Rook gave her a glare that allowed no argument. Sighing, Beauty switched off the right-hand blinker and turned on the left. Today, it seemed nothing was going to go according to plan.

* * *

As they drove up to the Morganstern Mental Health Facility, Tomahawk leaned forward.

“No, no, no, man,” Tomahawk mumbled.

Even Beauty looked askance as she pulled the station wagon to a stop. “Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking of involving Fanny?”

Rook grabbed the door handle. “Mainly so we didn’t have to have this fight.”

“This is bull,” Tomahawk stated. “She’s just a kid.”

“She’s twenty-three. A legal adult.”

Beauty put her arm on the seat back and turned to him. “You know what Tomahawk meant.”

“Did you both forget that we’ve got a Hellgate in the trunk?” Rook reminded them as he opened his door. “If this goes south, how safe do you think she’ll be here? Or anywhere?”

Neither of them could argue, and Chad didn’t get a vote, so Rook exited the car and headed into the clinic. The place did not have the look, feel, or
smell
of an institution. Once through the door, you found yourself in a soothing atrium with a glass ceiling. Even the front desk was richly appointed. An orchid graced the desktop.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Lerhaven,” Rook announced. “I am here to transfer Fanny Hops.”

The two nurses exchanged glances. One of them turned and walked down the hallway, while the other remained, smiling a bit too cheerfully. “Yes. Dr. Metz would like to speak with you before—”

“I’m sorry. I am on a tight schedule. However, Dr. Metz can call me with any questions.”

“I believe she wanted to discuss the transfer, so if you could have a seat, I will page—”

Rook skewered the nurse with his patented “Does it appear that I am messing around?” look. “I want Ms. Hops, and I want her
now
.”

The nurse, though, seemed up for a challenge. Fortunately, movement down the hallway drew their attention. Dr. Metz walked toward them, while a young woman with her hair in four ponytails—all with a different color—
skipped
down the hallway.

Fanny.

Her clothes were a riot of colors, as though she had rolled around in tempera paint. She was like a fractured, chaotic rainbow of childlike exuberance. Fanny looked up. It only took her a split second to recognize him.

“Rook!” she screamed, dropping the doctor’s hand and racing to him. He braced as she launched herself into his arms. “I mean, Doctor… Doctor…”

“Dr. Lerhaven,” Rook reminded her. “And it is nice to see you too, Fanny.”

Dr. Metz trotted to catch up as Fanny covered Rook’s face with baby-pink kisses. It was a bit like being mauled by cotton candy. A little sticky, really annoying, but in the end, kind of sweet.

Still carrying Fanny like a baby monkey, with her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck, Rook turned to the nurse. “I assume Fanny’s release papers are ready.”

The nurse stalled, though.

Rook’s eyebrow shot up. “I’m the doctor who signed Fanny in, and I will sign her out.” Okay, so he wasn’t really a doctor, but he also wasn’t one when he checked Fanny in either, so he figured they were square. “Or, do I need to call someone who is further up the food chain?”