The Borderkind (26 page)

How Oliver had envied them.

They had walked a distance from the abandoned rental car before hailing a cab, wanting to make it as difficult as possible for anyone who might track them—no matter what side of the Veil their pursuers might come from.

Now Oliver sat in an uncomfortable chair in a hotel room in a neighborhood that did not have any gleaming Christmas decorations, a place where no voices were raised in song. In college he had backpacked with Bob Dorsey from Amsterdam to Prague, traveling by train and staying in grimy youth hostels filled with cockroaches. It had been his own money—cash Oliver had earned tutoring—and it felt good to do something that wasn’t reliant on his father’s money. The filth had been amusing to him back then.

Now it was just filth.

This place was not nearly as bad as the worst of those hostels, but it was decidedly unpleasant. The stuffing in the chair had worn thin, the fabric faded and ragged. The carpet was no better, neither the curtains. But here, at least, no one tried to arrest him or have him killed. For the moment, he could not ask for more. A rest and a shower, that would do.

Until the hour arrived to put Kitsune’s plan into action. At that point, it would begin all over again. Yet there was no other way. Or, at least, no way that would not have taken days longer. It was hard to stomach even this short delay, knowing that Collette lingered in the custody of the monster who’d murdered their father and torn out his eyes.

The drive into Vienna had given him time to plan: find the ATM, get some distance from the abandoned car, take a cab, locate a hotel shitty enough to have a room they could use on Christmas Eve and for which they could pay cash. That explained all of the hookers going in and out of the lobby.

If the police were searching for him, there were only two possibilities he could think of. Either they wanted him in connection with the events on Canna Island—the murder of Professor Koenig and the fire that burned his home—or Oliver was a suspect in his father’s murder.

It never occurred to him that they might want to question him on both matters, and that there might be more—that there might be worse. In fact, it never occurred to him that there could be anything worse than being a suspect in the murder of your own father and the disappearance of your sister.

So they had checked into the hotel and taken turns showering, and now Kitsune lay on the bed, curled up beneath the comforter, having left plenty of room for Oliver. But he forced himself to stay in that uncomfortable, worn and faded chair and watched CNN, trying to avoid the bright jade eyes that would drift from the television screen every so often to cast him a glance full of equal parts curiosity, desire, and disappointment. He did his best to focus on the telling nature of CNN’s international newscast, which truly did provide news from around the world; at home, the news was weighted a hundred to one in favor of American coverage.

When the story began, he did not realize it was what he had been waiting for, and yet he was riveted with horror by the story of the murder of twenty-seven children at a German orphanage. Even the word “mutilated” did not register except to make him shudder with revulsion and wonder what sort of monster would do such a thing.

Then the report began to link other cases to that German atrocity. Prague. Toronto. Paris. New Orleans. San Francisco. In those cases, only one or two children had been killed, but all of the murders had been in the last few weeks, and according to local authorities as well as U.S. and European officials, the mutilations in each case were similar enough to make them believe some kind of cult was involved.

There did also seem to be a connection to another series of murders and mysterious disappearances, however.

Oliver’s mouth opened slowly, his eyes widening. His father’s face appeared on the screen. The murder of Maximilian Bascombe shared disturbing similarities to those of the dead children, as did that of Alice St. John, a little girl from Cottingsley, Maine. Both of Bascombe’s children had vanished…

“But authorities on two continents are searching for
this
man, Oliver Bascombe, son of the late Maximilian Bascombe, for questioning in regard to this international string of heinous crimes and also concerning the murder of a retired college professor, David Koenig, in Scotland. Yet the mystery only deepens. Confirmed sightings of Oliver Bascombe in London and Scotland prompted independent investigators Ted Halliwell and Julianna Whitney to travel from Maine to the United Kingdom to seek him out, only to vanish themselves on the night of David Koenig’s murder. If you have seen this man—”

The words continued but he could not hear anymore. It was as though he had gone deaf.

Oliver brought both hands to his forehead. His mouth hung open and his body shook as he drew in tiny gasps of air. Slowly he slid from the chair and his legs folded beneath him. He contracted in upon himself, leaning against the wall, trembling with denial and hopelessness.

It was her scent that made him aware of Kitsune’s presence beside him. She had curled up on the threadbare carpet and tried now to comfort him, but when she touched him he flinched and contracted further, trying to burrow deeper within himself, perhaps hoping in some way that he might disappear completely.

If she spoke to him, he did not hear. Though she did not try to touch him again, she remained there, curled on the floor nearby as though she could absorb some of the pain from him.

A vast gulf had opened within Oliver. Hollow, he huddled there and waited for the emptiness inside to fill again, at least enough so that he could stop shaking; so that he could get up and get on with what had to be done.

He feared that it never would.

CHAPTER
14

H
alliwell retreated deep within himself. It felt to him as though he operated his limbs from a great distance. Even looking out through his own eyes, everything seemed far away. And down in that place deep inside, he nursed a growing hatred of Oliver Bascombe. More and more he had become convinced Oliver was a victim, just as he and Julianna were, but that no longer mattered. He had simply grown tired of following the man, of chasing this phantom who bumbled on ahead of them through a world of impossibilities, and upon whom they had hung all of their hope.

There it is,
Halliwell thought.
That’s why you hate him…because you need him, and you know damn well he doesn’t have a magic wand. No ruby slippers here, Teddy. No way to click your heels and go home.

He thought the world of Julianna, but with every passing moment he drew further away from her. The distance helped. If he let himself be charmed by her wit and intelligence and sincerity, it became difficult to hate Oliver. Yet much of his bitterness was on her behalf. Julianna believed that once they found her fiancé, everything would be all right. Somehow, they would get home.

The truth left a black streak across his heart. There were no ruby slippers. Halliwell wanted so desperately to believe they would get home, and this world bristled with magic, so perhaps it was possible. But following Oliver around the Two Kingdoms seemed bound to get them killed.

Not that they had any other option. And even if they had, the time to divert from this path had long since passed. They were committed now.

All three of them—Halliwell, Julianna, and the girl, Kara—had been locked into a single large room. It had been well appointed, with soft, comfortable chairs, a balcony too high to leap from, and a pair of sofas. Halliwell had rested a bit, but had been unable to fall asleep. How could he shut down his thoughts, quiet his fears? Eyes open, he could only lie there and think of never seeing Sara again. The more he tried to push thoughts of his daughter from his mind, the more impossible that became.

Julianna and Ngworekara had gone out on the balcony for a time, then the girl had stayed out there while Julianna came in, curled up in a chair, and instantly fell asleep.

She woke with the metal clank of the lock turning. The door had swung open and Captain Beck had entered, leaving a quartet of guards in the hall. All of which had led them to the here and now.

Kara led the way, flanked by two grimly silent soldiers who seemed immune to the girl’s mercurial charm. Julianna and Halliwell followed side by side, with Beck and the other two guards behind them. The captain kept right on Halliwell’s heels and he felt her presence keenly. In all his life, he had never encountered a woman so beautiful and so deadly. Captain Damia Beck looked as though she’d been carved out of ebony and she moved with utter confidence, but he had no doubt she would kill him without blinking if the order came.

“He’s been here,” Julianna whispered.

Beck cleared her throat, perhaps coincidentally, but Halliwell felt sure it was an admonition. He ignored her, glancing at Julianna.

“How can you be sure?”

She smiled softly and arched an eyebrow. “Aside from the way we’re being treated? I just feel it. I know him, Ted. Have known him, in fact, most of my life. He’s been here.”

Julianna said nothing more. They followed Kara and the two guards around a corner, down a long set of stone stairs that gently curved to the right, and arrived at a pair of wood and iron doors that looked like they could withstand just about anything.

A diminutive soldier, a woman with olive skin and dark eyes, stood at attention at the sight of Captain Beck.

“His Highness, King Hunyadi, awaits,” the small soldier said. Then she grabbed hold of the door handle and swung it open with strength that belied her size.

They were ushered into a long, narrow room extensively decorated in an oceanic theme, with art depicting nautical scenes and marine life. A great many candles were arrayed around the room, but they remained unlit. The light from the lamps and torches on the walls cast the room in an eerie, pulsing glow. Fully two dozen soldiers were already inside the room when they arrived, lined up at attention on either side of a raised dais at the far end of the room, beneath a massive stained glass depiction of Neptune or Poseidon.

On the dais was a chair. But the king wasn’t sitting.

At least, Halliwell assumed the guy was the king. He stood with his arms crossed as though he had been awaiting their arrival with impatience. With his thick beard and graying hair, he could have been the father to the Viking soldier they’d met at the castle gate.

Kara, Julianna, and Halliwell were halted by their escort. Captain Beck strode forward and bowed with a flourish.

“Your Highness, may I present—”

King Hunyadi leaned on the back of his high chair and studied them. “I know who they are, Captain.” The king stared at Kara a moment, then looked at Julianna and Halliwell in turn. “The question is, do they?”

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but what the hell does that mean?”

Halliwell blinked and turned to stare at Julianna. Whatever distance he had cultivated evaporated in that moment. The way she looked at the king, it amazed Halliwell that she was not executed on the spot.

Instead, Hunyadi smiled and shook his head. “Ah, Miss Whitney. I can see why Bascombe wants to marry you.”

Julianna gave a tiny gasp and Halliwell was sure he saw her shudder at this confirmation that Oliver was alive. Whatever she might have believed, this was the first real indication she had that her faith was well founded.

“Then he’s been here?”

The king nodded thoughtfully. He came around his chair and sat down, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. With that gesture, he seemed like such an ordinary man that Halliwell found himself instinctively trusting him. The whole atmosphere in the castle was a comfort to him, given the circumstances. Some of the animalistic panic that churned in him retreated, and he took a steady, even breath.

Twillig’s Gorge had been chaos. But this…there was order here. He was a former military man and a police detective. He could understand hierarchy. It calmed him.

“Your Highness, if I may—” Kara began.

Hunyadi’s gaze turned dark. “No. You may not.”

The king ignored her then, studying Julianna and Halliwell. Several times, he seemed about to speak—so that when at last he did, it was obvious he had come to some decision.

“Detective Halliwell, what are your intentions toward Bascombe?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What will you do when you catch him?”

Halliwell shrugged, hoping that neither his dark thoughts nor his desperation would show in his expression. “I don’t know. We’re going to help him get his sister, Collette, back. After that…”

Julianna stared at him. Ted looked away.

King Hunyadi’s gaze commanded his attention. “You are aware, I’m sure, that there is no way for you to return to your own world?”

“We’re aware,” Julianna said.

“That’s what we’re told, at any rate,” Halliwell countered. Whatever calm he’d felt moments before had been burned away by the king’s words. Hunyadi was the ruler of this nation. If there was any way back, surely he ought to know. But Halliwell set his jaw and glared, still refusing to surrender to the consistency of this assertion.

He could not.

The king nodded slowly, studying him. “One day, my friend, you will have no choice but to accept the truth of it. When the day comes, perhaps we can speak again. A man with your training could be of great use to me. But that is the future. Let us discuss the present.”

He smiled at Julianna. “By now you’ve realized that your Oliver was, indeed, here at Otranto. He travels with a Borderkind called Kitsune. When they left my presence, both were still alive. I presume they remain that way and make their way even now toward the Sandman’s castle in hopes of destroying the fiend and retrieving Oliver’s sister from her captivity there.

“However, their visit here was not without incident. Beneath my very nose they were attacked by the Hunters. They survived only because Kitsune was swift enough to take Oliver across the border between worlds. They went through the Veil.”

Halliwell felt ice form in his gut. “They’re back in the world?”

King Hunyadi nodded. “Oliver is not restricted the way you are. He is an Intruder. But he has asked for a boon—a year to prove himself worthy of my trust—and I have granted it. Already, I believe he may earn that trust. The tale he told of a conspiracy against the Borderkind, and the threat presented by Ty’Lis of Atlantis, was proven by the assault upon him and his companion in this very chamber. Captain Beck has graciously accepted the position of advisor after I was forced to…eliminate the Atlantean presence in my own court.”

Halliwell frowned. Kara had begun to fidget like an even younger child where she stood at the foot of the dais, between the two guards who had escorted her in. She huffed and crossed her arms in petulant boredom.

The king either did not notice, or chose to ignore her.

“My agents had brought me tales of the travails of the Borderkind, but I confess I had only begun to realize the extent of the conspiracy and certainly had no idea what powers might lie behind it. I am indebted to Mister Bascombe for enlightening me. And now that you are here, I shall repay that debt.”

Kara twirled her hair in her fingers. “Really, Your Majesty, that isn’t necessary,” she said.

Hunyadi pinned her with a glare. “Oh, but it is. Entirely necessary. I repay my debts.”

Again he looked at Halliwell, then sat back in his seat, elbows on armrests, fingers steepled before him. His gaze shifted to Julianna.

“You will sleep here tonight. I will provide you with horses. At dawn, you’ll leave in the company of a dozen of my soldiers. They will ride with you to the Sandman’s castle either to aid Oliver or to learn his fate. Captain Beck herself will lead them.”

The relief and gratitude on Julianna’s face was contagious. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Halliwell took a deep breath, nodding slowly. “We’re grateful, but with the lead Oliver already has, would it be…” He’d been about to say
wise,
but thought better of it. “Wouldn’t it be better to leave right away?”

King Hunyadi glanced at him. “Of course. But Kitsune has taken him through the Veil. There is no way to overtake them. Your only hope is to reach Oliver’s destination before he gets there himself. As he explained it to me, they plan to recruit a powerful ally before continuing on. That effort should divert them at least for the night, if not longer. And let us be honest with one another, Mister Halliwell. Neither you nor Miss Whitney is in any condition to continue on your journey without rest.”

It was Halliwell’s nature to argue with such a statement, even if it had come from Sheriff Norris. The panic rose up in protest, anguished and desperate, making his whole body tense with the need to shout and move, to continue the search for an answer. But this man was the king of the country they found themselves in. And he was right.

“We appreciate your generosity,” Halliwell said.

The king remained grim as he studied them. In front of Halliwell, Kara shifted impatiently.

“Excellent. Then only one thing remains,” Hunyadi said, and he nodded once toward Captain Beck, whose own expression was equally grim, the lamplight playing across her ebon features.

Beck reached into the shadows of her cloak and drew out her twin silver pistols. Halliwell shouted and reached for Julianna, putting himself between her and those guns.

He need not have worried.

Captain Beck leveled both pistols and began firing. The first bullet struck Kara in the back, even as the girl tried to turn. The pretty little girl contorted, still on her feet, as the bullets tore into her, spraying blood across the floor. She would have fallen sooner, but the impact of each bullet drove her back another step and kept her from collapsing.

Julianna shouted and tried to pull away from Halliwell, to run to Kara, but he grabbed hold of her and would not let her move, afraid that the next shots might be for them.

Instead, Julianna collapsed into him and he held her. Together, in the fading echo of the bullets, they watched the little girl fall to the ground with a wet thump. Blood pooled, and tongues of smoke licked from the barrels of Captain Beck’s guns.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with you people?” Halliwell roared, his mind trying to deny what he had just seen.

Captain Beck turned her guns on him, her eyes emotionless. For the first time he noticed a thin scar above her right eye, the only blemish on her perfect face.

“The Hunters who are murdering Borderkind are also searching for Oliver Bascombe,” the king said, stroking his beard calmly, eyes locked on Halliwell. “They are not above subterfuge. Ngworekara had her own purpose in guiding you. In her land, she was queen of demons.”

Halliwell blinked. Demons?

“She was a little girl!” Julianna screamed, pulling away from Halliwell and stalking toward the dais. Captain Beck got in the way and Julianna stopped, but still she stared at Hunyadi in disgust.

“No,” said the king. “She was not.”

In confusion, Halliwell stepped forward. Even as he reached for Julianna to pull her back, they both looked down at the bleeding corpse of the little girl who had guided them this far.

Her skin no longer looked human. And her face…Tusks thrust from her mouth and an elephantine trunk hung down where her nose and mouth had been. Short, bristly hair stubbled her skull.

“Oh, hell,” Halliwell whispered.

Julianna clapped a hand over her mouth and turned away.