Living with the Dead (34 page)

Her bile rose. She swallowed it, burning down to her gut, adding to the roiling pit.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't. Not like this. Why a garrote? Why not a gun or a syringe of poison?

Was
that
what she wanted? A clean, quiet way to murder someone?

No, if she had to kill, it should be like this, messy and raw and undeniable.

She pushed down on the wire. A single spot of blood welled, then seeped along the wire.

Make it quick. If it's quick he won't wake –

Yes! If he didn't wake up, there wouldn't be any chaos.

Hope picked up the gun, ready to give Irving a second shot of the tranquilizer. Make sure he was out cold and then –

Her gorge rose again, bringing a fresh surge of bile. Sweat stung her eye; she swiped it back with a trembling hand.

She couldn't, couldn't,
couldn't
. Had to. Had to.
Had to.

A crash from the stairwell sent Hope jetting to her feet. A thump, then another, the rapid
bump-bump-bump
of a body tumbling down stairs. A shout answered by a roar.

Another crash. Another
bump-bump-bump
. A vision flash came. Karl had turned on his captors, sending them flying into the stairwell walls and tumbling down. Hope grabbed the gun and the wire, the thread zipping back into its case as she flew down the hall.

She could say she was going to his aid, but she knew she wasn't. She was running, running as fast as she could. Running from Irving Nast to Karl, from the problem to the solution. Every pound of her feet drove a dagger of shame into her heart. But she kept running.

Hope clamored over the body of one guard, then the second. The first was unconscious. The second? She didn't pause to check.

The air throbbed with residual chaos. Every pump pushed the shame of her cowardice deeper into memory, gone but not forgotten.

As she climbed to the roof, that chaos throb was like the faintest

beat of a distant heart, that pulse coming stronger with every step, chaos reeling her in.

"Where is she?" Karl snarled.

"Put him down!" someone yelled.

"Oh, I intend to."

Hope threw open the door. Karl stood at the roof edge, one hand around Rhys's throat, holding him over the side. Two armed SWAT team members had their guns trained on Karl.

Rhys hung there, unmoving. He was fully conscious, just staying very, very still.

"Karl? I'm okay."

He turned. The Cabal team still shouted orders. But he ignored them. His gaze traveled up and down Hope, assessing, as if, should she be injured, he might not rethink his threat to drop Rhys.

The Cabal men – like good soldiers – gave her only the briefest glance, checking for weapons, then dismissing her. When they looked away she mouthed and pantomimed a message, telling Karl she'd come with Rhys, that he wasn't planning to harm her.

He turned away before she was certain he got the message.

"So your plan failed, did it?" he growled at Rhys. "Hope was smarter than you gave her credit for. Outwitted you and escaped. Don't expect me to give you another shot at her. That's not how I handle threats."

Rhys's eyes saucered, a choked "wait!" burbling up as Hope flew forward, shouting for Karl to stop. He spun... and threw Rhys at the nearest guard as he lunged at the other.

Rhys hit the first guard, bowling him down in a shower of gravel and dust. Karl knocked the second one flying. Hope ran for Rhys's gun, dropped near the door. She made sure it was loaded with darts, then shot both the Cabal men. It wasn't as easy as it sounded, but she managed... after missing once and lodging a second dart in Karl's pant cuff.

Afterward, as she held a torn scrap of Cabal SWAT uniform to Karl's newly re-split lip, she said, "Next time you plan a fake out, warn me."

"If I did, your reaction wouldn't be nearly as authentic."

Rhys returned from dragging the second guard behind the rooftop shed. "I'd appreciate a warning, too, though I'll settle for not being used as a missile."

Karl shrugged, committing to no such promise.

* * * *

Karl and Rhys hauled up the men on the stairs – both unconscious and given a second shot to be sure they stayed that way. Then Hope told them about the woman and the guard on the third floor, and said, "Irving came down looking for the guard."

"And?" Rhys prompted.

"I tranquilized him."

"And?"

Karl's head whipping around. "What'd he ask you to do?"

Hope touched his arm. "I didn't. Rhys says Irving will come back after us, and he's right, but that's when I heard you, so I left him."

"Good. You two check for more guards. I'll look after Irving."

"I-I can. I should."

"No, you shouldn't. And you're not going to."

He strode off to take care of it for her... as always.

FINN

Finn hated to be ungrateful. But if there were people with other supernatural powers, he couldn't help wishing he'd been blessed with a more useful one, like teleportation. Having a phantom partner who had to rely on public transit seemed rather mundane. And, under the circumstances, rather frustrating.

He'd sent Damon on ahead with Adams and the man Robyn had called Rhys. But when Finn lost their car in traffic, Damon had to bail, then hitch rides back to the spot where he'd last seen Finn, find him and tell him which direction Adams was traveling. Now they were stuck canvassing the area, searching for the car.

Or, Finn should say, he and Robyn were searching. When Damon got near his wife, he was as useless as a twelve-year-old boy with a naked supermodel. He just sat there beside her in the backseat, staring and fidgeting, frustrated beyond reason, able to see and not touch.

"Did you get her shoulder checked?" Damon slid to the edge of the seat and leaned over.

"Couldn't. She seems fine with it, though."

"Didn't I warn you that as long as Bobby's conscious, she'll say she's fine? She needs to see a doctor."

"And she will, as soon as we're done. That's her decision."

When Finn had first started talking to Damon, Robyn would look up sharply, listening just long enough to realize he wasn't speaking to her, then nod and turn her attention back to the window. After a few exchanges, she'd caught on to the tone he used with Damon and stopped looking up. A fast learner. A fast adapter, too, already acting as if she'd spent her life around people who talked to ghosts.

"She looks good, don't you think?" Damon asked.

Finn looked at Robyn in the rearview mirror. She did look good. But a grunt seemed the safest answer.

"She seems to be getting back on her feet," Damon said.

Finn could agree with that, too. He had no idea what Robyn had been like before or after Damon's death, but the woman beside him – keenly watching out the window, stopping periodically to pepper him with questions – was far from the shell-shocked widow he'd expected.

"Hold on," Robyn said.

Finn hit the brakes.

She jolted forward, then gave a pained smile as she adjusted her lap belt. "I thought that would be less alarming than screaming 'Stop!' I was just going to say I recognize this area. Ahead is that bookstore I told you about, where we first saw the boy."

"Rhys's son."

"Why would he bring Hope – ?" Her chin jerked up. "Hope was on the roof when his son jumped. She was trying to talk him down."

"But Rhys wasn't there."

"He's clairvoyant, remember?"

It took Finn a moment to make the connection. Apparently some people were adapting to this stuff slower than others. "That means he gets a, uh, vision of people. In the present. So he could have seen Hope."

"He did. He said as much in the motel. If he blames her for him jumping and he's taking her back there now..."

"Direct me."

She did.

Robyn led Finn to a medical office building. There were three vehicles in the lot. One was the car they'd been tailing. There was also a van and a car that Finn thought he'd seen earlier.

"Is that the van they put Marten in?" he asked Damon.

"Uh..." Damon popped into the front seat for a better look. "Shit. Yeah. It is."

He parked at the far end of the lot. "Get closer and take a look."

When Damon left, Finn picked up the radio receiver.

"What are you doing?" Robyn said. "That's their car. They're inside the building."

"I know. I'm calling for backup."

"What?" She shot to the seat edge.

"I've just confirmed that's the van your friend Karl was in. That means we have a potential double hostage situation, possibly with two separate and hostile parties. I can't go in there alone."

"Fine." She grabbed the door handle and wrenched. "Unlock this."

"Calm down."

The moment the words left Finn's mouth, he knew they were the wrong ones. Now she turned her glare on him, her eyes flashing.

"I am calm, Detective Findlay. Calm enough to know that you're going to sit on your ass while my friend's life is in danger, and calm enough to know that I'm not going to do the same. Now open this door."

"I need backup. Standard – "

" – operating procedure." She twisted the words, wringing out a bucket of contempt. "Fine. You follow procedure, except on one point. You forgot to lock this door and I escaped."

"The longer you fight me, the longer it's going to take to make this call." Again, regret dogged the words. It was a perfectly logical thing to say, and it came out sounding perfectly condescending, like when a kid got frustrated and the teacher made him sit in the corner with a singsong "when you can behave, you can rejoin the class."

Robyn slid back in her seat. Her arms started to fold, then she thought better of it and let them fall by her sides. When Finn hesitated, watching her, she said, "Place your call, Detective."

Damon leapt into the passenger seat, making Finn jump.

"Put 'er in reverse and peel rubber," Damon said. "They're on the way out."

Finn backed from the lot.

Robyn shot forward again. "What the hell are you doing? They're still in there."

"Whoa, Finn," Damon said. "Talk to her."

Finn explained quickly as he found a spot to wait and watch.

"
Who's
coming out?" Robyn demanded.

"Hope, Karl and that guy," Damon said, and Finn relayed.

Damon climbed into the backseat. "What'd you do to her?"

"Nothing."

"You did something. She's furious."

"Are Adams and Marsten coming out as hostages?" he asked.

"Change the subject, huh? No. They appeared to be with him willingly. I think stopping here was a trap for those SWAT guys. They rescued Karl and disabled his captors."

"Disabled?"

"Knocked out. Tranquilizer guns." Damon's attention turned back to assessing his wife. Par for the course, but Finn had been with Damon long enough now to know he'd turned away a little too fast.

"What else?" Finn asked.

"I counted five guys in those SWAT uniforms, all unconscious now. There's one suit, too. And a woman. A bystander, I think, but she's okay."

"I meant what else did you find? What aren't you telling me?"

"Hmm?" He looked up. "That's it. I'm just... still processing, I guess. Tranquilizer guns. This is truly some weird shit going on, Finn... oh, there they are."

Through a stand of trees, Finn watched the trio head for a car.

"Robyn?"

"Hmm?" Polite, but cool. A petty grudge might be beneath her, but from her tone, Finn knew he'd slid from ally to enemy. Or at least obstacle.

"That guy." He pointed. "Is that Rhys?"

She moved along her seat to the window. "Yes."

"Da – Uh, David?"

"Nice save," Damon said, with a look that warned him against slipping again.

"Go with them," Finn said. "This time, if you lose me, keep going. Get their final destination, then rendezvous here."

HOPE

Once they'd gotten rid of the Cabal tail and Karl was free, Rhys apparently considered their partnership at an end. He assured Hope and Karl that he'd look after Adele and find a way to clear Robyn's name. Hope told him where he could shove his assurances – she wasn't leaving him until she had Adele.

It took some negotiating, but he finally agreed Adele could be tried by the council, as long as Hope and Karl played bodyguard on his kumpania visit, which she suspected was what he'd hoped for all along.

When they left the medical offices, Karl was behind the wheel, Rhys in the passenger seat, Hope in the back.

On the way Rhys finally decided to tell them about the kumpania. Maybe that had something to do with Karl pulling over on Mulholland Drive and demanding to know everything before he went any farther, the looming cliff edge an unspoken echo to his earlier threat.

"Kumpania," Rhys said. "It's a Romany name."

"Gypsy?" Hope asked.

"Right. The original members likely were, and the current bulibasha, Niko, claims to be a direct descendent."

"Bulibasha?"

"Leader. Romany again. Supposedly the kumpania started in the Old World and came to the New World fleeing the pogroms. The kumpania likes its mythology. No one much cares how accurate it is, as long as it's a good story."

"And everyone in the kumpania is a clairvoyant?"

He directed Karl to take the next turn. "A full clairvoyant manifesting powers. The kumpania was created for two express and interconnected purposes: preservation of the bloodline and preservation of the power. Preservation of power includes strengthening it through training and avoiding the curse of madness."

"Can they do that?"

He took off his ball cap and raked his fingers through his hair. "They've found that elusive happy medium, which works for most. And if it doesn't? The kumpania doesn't permit deviations from its core principles."

"You think they kill anyone who shows signs of going mad?"

"The kumpania presents itself as a community idealizing clairvoyant life. But they have more in common with a cult than with a commune, including strict indoctrination, severe restrictions on their members' movements and the willingness to kill to protect the community. Which is why Adele has no qualms about killing cops. It's the kumpania way. Preservation of self at all costs." He set his cap on the seat. "Which is not to excuse what she's done. The kumpania isn't a cult of murderers. In her case, it's merely a mitigating factor, something to consider."

"Which the council will."

He nodded and went quiet. That was all the information she needed and, she presumed, all they were getting. But after a moment, he went on.

"The second concern of the kumpania is the preservation of the bloodline. All kumpania children have two fully clairvoyant parents. That inbreeding, though, causes genetic problems, so they regularly infuse the bloodline with outside clairvoyants – durjardo. That's where I came in."

Karl had slowed as the road narrowed. Rhys waved for him to keep going.

"I joined the navy right out of high school," Rhys continued. "As a boy I was into Boy Scouts, Sea Cadets, the Junior Reserves... I had this fantasy of growing up to be a Navy SEAL, using my clairvoyance to protect my country. It didn't work out. That's when I met Neala, Colm's mother. Not a coincidence, as I figured out years later. The kumpania has ways of finding suitable candidates. I was ripe for the picking. A young man, angry and lost, meeting a pretty girl, another clairvoyant, who brought me home to this amazing group that welcomed me and promised a life of balance and sanity. You can't understand how important that can be."

Actually, Hope could. But she said nothing.

He went on. "People hear about cults and they can't believe anyone would join. But it's easy. Just offer what's missing in someone's life, what they want most. The first year was great. Yes, I was picked for Neala, but it wasn't like you'd think. I was in love; she was at least in like. I was happy. Twenty-one with a beautiful wife, a good job, a supportive community, a baby on the way..."

"Colm."

"No. Our first son was stillborn. Serious genetic defects. Bringing in fresh blood doesn't negate generations of cousin marriages. That's when it started falling apart for me, after he died. The kumpania was so fatalistic about it. Callous even. Neala was heartbroken, but the bulibasha told her to suck it in and try harder next time. She got pregnant right away, with Colm, and that helped her, but it was too late for me. I started asking questions and chasing answers. Young and naive, I thought if I confronted the group with what I knew, the general members would rise up against the phuri – the elders – and we'd fix things."

A pause, then, "Turn left up here, at the gravel road. We're almost there." He picked up his cap and ran the brim through his fingers. "Adele is where it really fell apart for me. She was another durjardo. She was five when she came. Colm had just been born and I was already on my mission, questioning everything. The phuri told Adele her mother gave her to the kumpania. Behind her back, but within earshot, they said her mother sold her."

"And she overheard?"

"She was supposed to. That was part of the brainwashing. To her face, they were loving and kind, shielding her from the awful truth. But they found ways to let her know her mother didn't want her. It... did things to her. Again, not an excuse. Mitigating circumstances."

"Did her mother sell her?"

He shook his head. "She brought Adele to the kumpania. She'd heard about them and followed the trail through her clairvoyant contacts. She thought they could both live with the kumpania. But her mother was a pale 'cido – a clairvoyant by blood only, no powers. To the kumpania, that made her a burden. A liability even."

"So they killed her."

He nodded.

"Does Adele know?"

"I doubt it. She thinks the big secret is that she was sold, not abandoned. Growing up, thinking your mother sold – " He shook his head. "Mitigating factors. Karl? That's it up ahead. Slow down so I can get a look, see what's changed."

Hope doubted anything had. The place looked like a commune out of the sixties. For the last ten minutes they'd been driving past large houses on lots of an acre or less. In this part of Southern California, those were considered palatial estates. She could only imagine how much the kumpania property was worth.

A fringe of forest hid the property from the neighbors, though it wasn't anything she'd suspect would offend them – a collection of buildings, neat and pretty, surrounded by flower and vegetable gardens. There was even a small, whitewashed barn with chickens and goats. Picture-perfect commune living. The neighbors probably found it quaint, drove their visitors by for a look, the way Pennsylvanians did with the Amish.

There was a metal gate – painted gleaming white and entwined with vines. From here, it seemed it could be opened by hand. When Hope said as much to Rhys, he nodded. "It's not locked. But there's a camera there, in the birdhouse. And an alarm will sound in the main house when the gate opens."

Hope was about to ask why clairvoyants needed a security camera. Then she answered her own question – their powers fixed on specific people, not locations or objects.

"So we're going in the front door?" she asked.

"I want to make this visit as civil as possible. I'm here to take Adele and tell the kumpania about her and the Cabal. That's it."

"Warn them and let them run."

"Most of the kumpania is exactly what they purport to be – a peaceful group dedicated to protecting and nurturing clairvoyants."

"And the rest... ?"

He adjusted his cap. "Someday I'll deal with that. I've been working on it for thirteen years, and it's not an institution I can dismantle today. For now I need to give them an escape route, so they don't panic. If things go wrong too fast, they have a predetermined course of action to follow, like most cults."

"Waco?"

"Jonestown."

Hope rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. In school, she'd read a reference to Jonestown, and – being fascinated by the macabre – had looked it up. She could still see the photographs, the halls and rooms of corpses, the children, all the dead children. She stared at those kumpania houses now and they didn't look nearly as quaint.

Karl turned into the drive.

"I'll get the gate," Rhys said. "Before I do, though, I need to warn you again. As open and neutral as I try to make this meeting, we're dealing with a lot of tension here and a lot of distrust. Hope, you have that gun I gave you?"

Hope nodded.

"Absolute last resort," Rhys said. "The moment you pull that gun, you've shut down negotiations, and there are more of them – with many more guns. They'll be on edge already, seeing me after all these years. A visit from the grave."

"They thought you were dead?"

He nodded and opened the door.

"That could help," Hope said. "A shock, yes, but a good shock."

"I don't think so." He got out and leaned his head back in. "They're the ones who tried to kill me."