The Descent Series, Books 1-3: Death's Hand, The Darkest Gate, and Dark Union (The Descent Series, Volume 1) (45 page)

The theater smelled like fresh paint and turpentine. Pieces of the set were in place while others were assembled near the orchestra pit by stagehands. She picked a seat in the back of the theater and sat down.

“One more time, from the top,” James said from the front row. He wore sweats and a shirt with the studio logo across the back.

When he gestured, a tech in the sound booth started the song again.

Elise watched the dancers, some of whom were in the bulkier pieces of their costumes, with mild bemusement. She had never been a big fan of casino shows. There was far too much glitter for her tastes.

“Having fun playing voyeur?”

David Nicholas had joined her. He draped himself over the chair at her side, reeking of cigarette smoke and filth. She tried to calm her jumping heart. She hadn’t felt his approach. “You’re here.”

“Where else would I be? Unless you finished the Night Hag’s to-do list and stuck that kopis six feet deep, I’m still on babysitting duty.”

“You won’t be much longer.”

“Good. Want a smoke?”

Elise curled her lip at the proffered cigarette. David Nicholas was even fleshier than before. His shoulders were broader, his jaw was squarer, and he was starting to look like a thug instead of a dying addict. “Has anything come near James yet?”

“Nah. Too bad, huh? Sure would make this a hell of a lot more fun. I can only watch this guy bone his girlfriend so many times before it gets boring.” At Elise’s glare, he gave a helpless shrug. “Gotta keep my eye on him. What if the doctor tried to stab him or something? Sure would be a shame if I missed it.”

“If anything happens to James, I will exorcise you to Hell. And then I’ll come down, find what remains of your corporeal body, and remove your skin with a rusty potato peeler.”

He clucked his tongue. “Naughty, naughty. Remember what the Night Hag said about playing nice.”

“Fuck playing nice. You and I both know we’ll settle this the instant our truce is over anyway.”

“Oh, yes.” David Nicholas bared his yellow teeth in a grin that stretched back to flash every molar. It was a coyote grin, inhuman and hungry. “We definitely will.”

“But your problem is with me. Don’t touch James.”

He laid a hand on his heart. “I wouldn’t
dream
of it.”

The music reached a crescendo. James walked onstage, clapping his hands to attract the attention of the dancers. He all but glided inches off the ground. Of all the things that brought him joy—magic and music and teaching his students—nothing made him radiate like being in his element.

Watching him gather the dancers made jealousy wash over Elise. There was a time he only smiled like that for her, like when they managed to save someone or won a vicious battle.

She realized she was staring and turned back to make a parting shot at David Nicholas, but there was only emptiness beside her. He wouldn’t be far away. Nightmares never were. “I mean it,” she whispered. “Don’t touch him.”

If the nightmare was listening, he didn’t reply.

Elise found a program left on one of the seats and scrawled a note in the margin:
Anthony and I are making a move against Mr. Black. I’ll call you when I’m done
. She didn’t bother signing it.

When the music played again, James stayed upstage to watch the chorus line. She sneaked up to his pile of towels and tucked the program at the bottom.

She didn’t stick around to watch anything else.

A
nthony and Elise
stopped at a taco truck to pick up dinner before getting gasoline at the corner station. He ate as she filled a half dozen red jugs and loaded them in the cargo area of the Jeep. They had moved the body of the daimarachnid nurse behind the seats, too, and covered it in sweaters and trash to make it look unremarkable.

Elise paid for their food and gas in cash. She grimaced at the last twenty in her wallet.

“I could pay for some of this,” he suggested.

She snapped her wallet shut. “Don’t worry about it.”

They headed north out of the city, beyond the last housing development and into hills filled with wild horses. Evening fell fast in the valleys beyond civilization. The sky caught fire in a desert sunset, striping a violet sky with pink clouds and tinting the sagebrush blue.

Elise spoke on her cell phone for a long time as she drove. Actually, she didn’t talk so much as listen, punctuating the conversation with an occasional, “Okay,” or “Fine.”

“Who was that?” Anthony asked when she hung up without saying goodbye.

“That was the people I’m working with on this raid. They were arranging to pick up the cargo.”

“And who is ‘they’?”

“A demonic overlord and her court of nightmares. Nobody important.”

Anthony couldn’t tell if she was joking.

She steered the Jeep off the road, navigating carefully around the largest of rocks. Night sank over them, and soon they could only see within the beam of the headlights.

When they reached the top of a hill overlooking a dry lake bed, she turned the Jeep off and double-checked her map.

“This is it,” she said, peering through binoculars to the playa below.

There were lights at the other end of the valley. Wind rustled through the hills, carrying the sweet smell of sagebrush past them. The desert had probably gotten up to well over a hundred degrees earlier in the day, but the wind was already beginning to cool, and he found himself shivering. “See anything?” he asked.

“The odds aren’t good,” Elise said, lowering the binoculars. She tucked a dagger into her belt at the small of her back. “Probably a dozen guys out there. One per pickup. No sign of the semi yet.”

“What’s the plan?”

“I want you to disable the trucks so they can’t get away with the shipment.”

He held out a hand for the binoculars, and Elise passed them over.

They had assembled a loading bay in the middle of the desert and lit it with a generator-powered floodlight. He could make out the fleet of trucks, but he wasn’t sure how Elise deduced the number of people.

“It’s going to take a while to disable them all. I have to get into each glove box and pull the fuse for the fuel pump relay.”

“My contact said the semi should be due in about…” She checked the map again. “Twenty minutes from now. We need to be in and out before they realize their trucks won’t start.”

“What if they see us?” Anthony asked.

She just looked at him. Shadows carved her face with deep crags and harsh lines. It was the face of someone who had gone against such odds before and come out alive. He felt immediately stupid for asking.

“We kill them,” she said.

Anthony nodded and swallowed hard.

Elise took a moment to roll her shoulders and touch her toes, going through the motions of stretching while Anthony refilled the gas tank for a quick getaway. He dumped the plastic-wrapped body down a ditch, which felt like it had been almost entirely dissolved by venom, then fit his shotgun into his back scabbard and gave her a thumbs up.

She ran, and he hurried to follow.

The desert rushed past him. Elise dodged around the sagebrush and rocks and he followed.
It’s just like our camping trip
, he told himself again, and he tried not think about their odds of coming back.

There was no subtlety in their run, no grace. The semi couldn’t get to the bay before they did.

When they drew within a hundred meters of the ring of light, Elise stopped. Anthony was breathing hard. He didn’t do nearly enough cardio to keep up. “You good?” she asked, and he nodded as he wheezed. “We’ll sneak around back.” Another nod.

The men talked loudly by the loading bay—something about bitches and liquor—and didn’t notice their approach. Elise and Anthony ran to the tall end of the loading bay.

She crouched behind it, pulled him down beside her, and peeked over the top of the wooden platform.

The pickups were parked in two neat rows. Most of the drivers talked and smoked in a cluster by the light, leaving the vehicles unattended. Why worry? They were hours from the city. “Fifteen guards,” she whispered. “They’re human. And armed.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she put a finger over his lips. Then she slid around the side of the loading bay, and he followed.

One man, a big guy with a tattoo of a kitten on his wrist, stood aloof from the others. Metal glinted under his untucked shirt. A gun. Great.

Elise pointed to the nearest truck. He crawled forward, keeping an eye on Kitten, and reached up to try the passenger door. It was unlocked. He reached in and opened the fuse box on the glove compartment. Removing the fuse for the fuel pump, he shut the door as quietly as possible and slipped back.

He showed her the number on the fuse. She moved for the next truck. Together, they worked their way up the lines. Each pickup drew them closer to Kitten and all the other men.

“My fucking wife just doesn’t get it,” one of the guards muttered. He offered a joint to the man next to him. “She’s gotten fat, sure, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I don’t want anyone else.”

“Even Candi?” chuckled a third man with a Disturbed concert t-shirt.

“Candi. Mm hmm. I’d like to stick it in that bitch,” said the second, passing the joint back.

Anthony eased another door open and pulled the fuse. He took a quick count of how many he had in his pocket—five. Elise wasn’t far behind in the other row.

“Fuck Candi, man. No way some slut makes steak as good as my woman. I’d never trade that in.”

Only two vans between Anthony and Kitten. He searched for Elise amongst the other vehicles, but he couldn’t see her. He did, however, see a pair of approaching headlights on the horizon.

The semi.

“What are
you
?”

He jerked up just in time to see Kitten looming over the van, an arm braced on the open door. His muscles bulged with veins.

“Uh,” Anthony said in a stroke of brilliance.

Kitten clapped a hand on his shoulder and flung him into the crowd of drivers.

Shoulder met playa, and the breath rushed out of his body. Anthony groaned and rolled onto his knees. “What’s this? We got a visitor!” crowed Disturbed.

Someone kicked him in the ribs. It was like getting slammed by a sledgehammer, and it shot spikes of pain all the way into his groin.

He fell on his side again. Someone laughed a hyena laugh—a skinny man with a tattoo on his neck that said “Bad” in gothic letters—and he was echoed by others.

Kitten leaned over him. “What are you doing all the way out here? What is that you’re wearing, a backpack?” He shoved Anthony’s head to the side. “Kid’s got a shotgun.”

The tone immediately went from jovial to serious. Kitten eased a semi-automatic handgun out of his shoulder rig, and Anthony heard the telltale click of a safety turning off.

“On your knees,” Kitten ordered.

He complied, moving slowly even as every nerve in his body begged him to run. He tried not to search for Elise, but he couldn’t help but steal a few looks out of the corner of his eye as he got up. Anthony linked his hands behind his head and stared down Kitten’s gun.

One of the men took the shotgun out of his scabbard, tossing it aside.

“I’m… I was just…” His mouth was dry, and he couldn’t seem to think of the words he wanted to say.

“What are you doing out here?” Kitten asked again.

His mouth moved soundlessly. After a few monosyllabic attempts at speaking, Anthony finally said, “Camping. And… and hunting. Coyotes.”

Kitten guffawed. “We look like coyotes to you?”

Following his cue, the other guards laughed as well. Anthony caught a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye. Elise ran from one truck to the next. She wasn’t being as subtle now that he had everyone’s attention.

“N-no,” Anthony stammered. “I thought… uh…”

“Woo-ee! Little boy’s going to shit his pants.”

“What are we going to do?” another asked, glancing uneasily toward the approaching headlights at the end of the playa. “The boss will be pissed if he finds out someone saw us.”

“Take him out a half a mile and shoot him,” Kitten said. He pointed at Disturbed. “You. Now. Make it fast.”

The bright lights swirled around Anthony.
Shoot him
? He didn’t feel like he was going to “shit his pants,” but passing out wasn’t off the menu, either.

Elise wouldn’t let him get shot. She would save him. Wouldn’t she?

Disturbed yanked Anthony to his feet by the back of his shirt and aimed a submachine gun at his midsection. “Walk,” he ordered, aiming Anthony toward the nearest edge of the playa.

He briefly contemplated a struggle, but the logistics of an unarmed man against a dozen others wasn’t pretty. But the pain was still radiating from his gut to his balls, his heart was about to splatter in his chest, and he thought he was going to lose his taco dinner in the dirt.

“I was just camping,” he said.

The gun nudged him in the back.

So Anthony walked.

With every footstep, his head felt lighter. They left the ring of bright lights and Disturbed prodded him again. “Faster,” he said, and he didn’t sound too confident. Maybe he wasn’t much of a killer. Maybe he didn’t want to actually hurt Anthony. Maybe he would just let him go…

“Look, man,” Anthony said, trying to talk around the cotton balls that seemed to have materialized in his mouth. “I was having fun. I didn’t mean any harm, or… Jesus Christ, I won’t tell anyone I saw you out here. I swear.”

It was probably the most convincing lie he had ever told.

“Nothing should be coming out of your mouth but prayers right now, kid.”

Anthony wasn’t sure who he should pray to. God? Or his girlfriend, who was—he hoped—a hell of a lot more likely to save him?

The lights behind them faded. The edge of the playa surrendered to sage-filled desert.

Disturbed kicked him behind the knees. Dust ground into his palms as he hit. When he looked up, he stared straight down the barrel of the submachine gun.

“Oh shit,” Anthony said.

There was something undignified about pleading. His uncle had a dozen war stories about facing death with stoic silence, and
Tío
Jacob would have chewed him out for being a pussy if he saw the way he was shaking. But at least he wasn’t the only one.