Revenant (23 page)

He didn’t flinch. He wasn’t even looking at me but in the direction of the kitchen. Ah. Mom. He was listening in on that conversation with Rhonda. Which was a good thing since I was holding the book in my left hand now and opened it back up—

—I could read it.

I blinked down at the actual English words, then closed it. Making sure TC was still looking away, I opened it again and just landed on a page and started reading silently—

TC had moved away from me and was standing just at the door between the two shops, listening. I knew I should shoo him away, but—I looked down at the book again, holding it in my right hand. When I opened it—the language was indecipherable.

Huh? What?
I held the book in both hands, and the text melted, to be replaced by English again. I flipped to the back, where it looked like there was a strange genealogy with names. I scanned down the list quickly, only recognizing three of them—Hephaestus, Mephistopheles, and Yamato. The list was in triple columns along several pages, with birth dates spaced a shitload of years apart.

Were these the names of the First Borns? Whose journal was this? And how was it I was reading it when I—

And then I remembered the scroll of symbols moving from the Grimoire within Dags to the mark on my arm.
Was that—could it be—

To test, I held the book in my right arm—the language became illegible. When I held it in my left hand—

It was like a translation! I had to tell Mom!

And with that thought came an overwhelming need to throw up. I doubled over, dropping the book on the floor, and gagged out loud. I felt as if my stomach were going to come up through my mouth.

“What’s wrong with you?” TC said as he knelt beside me. It wasn’t exactly a tender moment. But it was a little odd having TC actually ask that question.

I shook my head, the nausea starting to slide away, but my stomach—

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY DAUGHTER?!”

You know . . . lately . . . Mom really had the Charlton Heston voice going on. Moses on the mountain thing. I jumped, and it looked like TC did as well as we both looked up to see her standing in the doorway, a gun in her hand. Oh, I remember that gun—she’d shoved it in my face a while back. And now it was pointing at TC.

He cursed under his breath and stood to face her, thrusting his arms out in an attempt at an embrace. “Nona . . .”

“Don’t you fucking ‘Nona’ me. What the hell are you doing in my house, and what have you done to Zoë?”

He looked innocent enough—about as innocent as a viper could look—and gestured to me, who was still bent double, trying not to throw up. “I haven’t touched Zoë, right, luv?”

I shook my head, happy the book was actually hidden beneath me. I didn’t want any attention to be brought to it. And if I even thought about bringing Mom in to look at it, the nausea started again. “He . . . didn’t . . .”

“I don’t believe it.” She moved forward until she was right in his face, the gun shoved under his nose. “I want that book back.”

“Don’t have it, Mom.” He reached up and moved the barrel away from his face with the index finger of his right hand. “And please, don’t point that thing in my face again. I was here to help, but I guess now—”

I knew he heard me—and I could feel his internal reaction of surprise before he said,
Why not?

Trust you?
I could hear him laughing.

He paused in silence.
Good point.
TC tilted his head at my mom, waved, and disappeared.

Mom cursed when he disappeared, then leaned over to touch my back. “Zoë? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” I said, and tried reeeeeally hard not to hurl.
Oh God . . . I promise not to think about showing Nona or anyone the book again!

Suddenly, the nausea was gone. Just like that.

No . . . it can’t be that easy.
I remained on the floor, thinking of a way to ditch the book. Because if she saw it, she’d grab it. And even the thought of that happening made the nausea rear its ugly head. “Uhm . . . Mom . . . can you bring me a flat Coke? I—I think that’ll help my stomach.”

I could see her beam even with my head down. She’s always believed that old wives’ tale to be true, which explained my aversion to flat drinks. She hurried off, and I managed to grab the book and stand. I repeated the no-tell mantra over and over again until my stomach quieted down, and started looking for a place to hide the book.

Hrm . . . Mom always said the best way to keep something from someone was to roll it up in a lie. And the best way to hide something was to do it in plain sight. I eyed the NOT FOR SALE section by the back wall—about where I’d tackled the intruder—and moved carefully there. I didn’t have a key to open the glass case, but in truth one didn’t exist. All I had to do was jiggle the lock once right, once left, then left again, and it would open. Listening to the sounds of Mom in the kitchen, I grabbed up a book that looked similar in size and removed the dust jacket. With a lot of work. I managed to put that jacket over the book, then wedged the two in together and shut the door.

I went down on the floor quickly just as Mom came in with the glass. I drank it and pretended to feel better. After sitting in my papasan and getting through the whole Mommy thing, she finally did settle in and tell me about the copies.

She and Rhonda had indeed made copies while they’d had the book and we were getting to know Dags back in December of last year. What they had noticed in the middle of copying was that some symbols didn’t photocopy at all. Almost like they had a no-transferor-modify locked into their existence.

Well, those missing pieces proved to be a problem with a lot of the spells, so she and Rhonda locked them away in the basement.

“And now some Revenant has those copies.”

I thought about what she’d said, about the missing pieces, about what sat in the botanica (which I planned on reading as soon as I could get back to it), and something seemed wonky. “Mom—does it really seem likely that a Revenant is going to break in and grab these copies of a book so important that he or she shoots the very person the original is connected to?”

Hroo? Did that make sense?

Mom stopped and looked at me. “Come again?”

I sat forward. “First off—if you and Rhonda were the only ones besides Dags who knew the Grimoire had been copied, then how did this Revenant find out about it? How did he or she know where to go in the house to find them?”

“I don’t know—but I suppose, in hindsight, hiding them in the basement was a rather sad idea.”

“But besides that, Mom, how did they
know
? Did you tell anyone?”

“No.”

“I know I didn’t ’cause I didn’t know you’d done it. And if this book is so important—why shoot the guy keeping it safe?”

That got her. “Oh . . . this doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. Unless that particular Revenant wasn’t aiming at Dags at all and was just shooting to get out of there.” And if I thought about the sequence of events, that felt the most likely. He attacked with those slashes, I attacked him, then he pulled a gun and started shooting. All the while he’s looking to get out of there with the papers.

“I just had a horrible thought,” I said.

Mom looked at me. “I’ve had one a day since you were born.”

I stuck my tongue out at her. “What if it’s not Daniel doing this, or even another creature possessed by the Phantasm? But what if it’s actually a Revenant? One out to gain power, because if it can get rid of the competition—the Revenant family—then that one could do whatever the hell it is he wants.”

“And have the potential to kill the Phantasm . . .” Mom was looking at me with an odd light in her eyes. “Zoë, sometimes you do have moments of clarity.”

Okay, you have got to stop
almost
complimenting me. It’s confusing as hell.

“There was one Revenant Jason said he couldn’t contact. Maybe that guy was it?” Nona said.

“Well, that was Inanna.” I shook my head.

Mastiff came in through the front door at that moment—and I had to laugh. My protection totally missed TC and had no clue anything had happened inside the house.

“Zoë.” He had his phone to his ear.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of Halloran. Results came back on that hair they found on the latest.”

Oh no. I just know what he is going to say.
“It’s Daniel, isn’t it?”

“No, which is surprising.” He paused. “The hair belongs to a Darren McConnell.”

ABOUT
ten calls later and Mom and I were on our way out to Rhonda’s inheritance.

Did I tell you she got rich? Or that she was always well-off, only none of us knew it? Well, I think Mom did. But then I was shocked when I discovered that Mom already knew Rhonda was a spy for the Society of Ishmael. Hell, her uncle ran it, after his predecessor became stuffing for Bertram and Charolette. But here was Rhonda, still hanging with us poor people.

I let Mom drive on the way out there. It was therapeutic for her. I knew she used that time to think and had in the past come up with some stellar results. Though I had no idea what it was she was thinking about at the moment. Maybe how any of Dags’s hair could be found on the body of a Revenant he’d never met?

It was planted, of course. Had to be.
But by whom?

Too late I realized I’d left the book in the botanica. I suppose it was best—but I also felt that a lot of the answers I needed about that book, as well as the Grimoire inside of Dags, could be found inside it. I doubted I could figure out the true mysteries of life . . . all I wanted was the mysteries of that moment in time.

We arrived at the estate around four thirty—after stopping off for more groceries than what Joe had bought. I tried his phone for the fifth time, huffing when he didn’t pick up, and it went to voice mail. At least it didn’t go straight there—if it had, it would mean his phone was off or out of power.

I wondered if he had GPS on it—could Rhonda track him the way she tracked Dags?

The estate sat on 180 acres of land—good God.

About twenty people lived at the estate besides Rhonda, and she kept a condo in Atlantic Station for convenience sake. The drive to Alpharetta could get long with traffic.

High gates and two armed security guards with swirly things coming out of their ears greeted us at the entrance. They made a point of making sure we could see their guns.
Penis heads. Yeah, yeah, so you’re armed. Big deal. I’m a Wraith, and I can snatch your soul right out of your body.

Eep.
That was spooky.

Mom let her eye be scanned, and the doors opened. The drive up to the palatial estate was paved, and lined with Southern oaks and magnolias, the oaks covered in Spanish moss. I think she had it like imported in from Savannah. Azalea bushes, not in bloom, also lined the path. I know for a fact Joe had gotten on to her about those bushes because they were easy for robbers or thieves to hide in, especially at night. But I guess Joe didn’t get the fact that the yard itself, all 180 acres of it, was patrolled by a different kind of oogy.

No. I doubt he realized it. I did. I could sense it out there in the afternoon sun, lazily waiting on night.

The house itself was the typical style . . . estate. Huge columns. Large chandelier outside. Drive-through front. Nona pulled the Volvo up, and we got out. One of the butlers took the car and parked it as we went inside.

And how do I describe the inside?

Let’s say . . . WANT.

Marble floors, highly polished, paired with marble walls. Flower arrangements that would impress even the downtown Hilton. And a state-of-the-art in-house environmental system. There were close to twenty rooms in the main house. I know this ’cause I got lost finding the bathroom. There is a solarium—my fav place. And then there’s the four whole underground floors, where I assumed Dags and Jason were.

I followed Mom into the foyer, past the steps, and into the library. Again, I thought of that book and did a mental string of cursing. Once in the library with the door closed, she did that weird thing Rhonda does—waving her right hand in the air, then left (wax on, wax off); the farthest bookshelf, next to an impressive antique desk, vanished.

Not recessed and slid into the wall.

VANISHED.

I hadn’t asked where it goes yet. I’m a little afraid.

If anyone knows me—they know I don’t do magic well. It’s just something I should NOT attempt again. For me to open the door—huh—maybe I should ask her about that since I haven’t actually come in here by myself before.

Behind the vanishing bookshelf was an elevator. We got in, rode down to the fourth floor below, and stepped out into what I termed
Magical Operations
or
Mops
. From what I’d seen, it was a podlike layout. The central hub was a setup of computer terminals manned by trusted members of the Society, many of whom, Rhonda said, lived here at the estate.

These people monitored Society members out on field assignments, like Dags had been on. Some are sent out to observe, like Rhonda was originally sent to observe me. And then some are there to retrieve, and some are sent to destroy. From here, Rhonda can get an update on all of them, and when she wasn’t here, the whole operation was manned by a guy she called Gunter.