The Eternal Ones (39 page)

“Yes. The health department. I’m going to need to take a look around.”

“Be my guest. But you will find no health-code violations here. My parents run a very clean shop.” The girl was trailing behind the man as he stomped around the store. “The bathroom is cleaned twice a day. The floors are mopped every evening at seven. If you’re sniffing around for mouse feces, you will not find any, sir. And you will find no bugs crawling our walls. This store has been open for twenty-two years, and we have never had a single cockroach. In fact, we do not welcome animals of any variety, sir. No dogs, no cats, no birds, no monkeys, no—”

“Okay, okay,” the man growled impatiently. “Inspection over. You pass.”

Haven and Beau heard the door chimes and waited a few seconds before sliding out of their hiding space.

“That was amazing,” Beau told the girl. “You saved us.”

“My parents say I was an actress in my last life,” the girl said. “That man was from the Ouroboros Society, wasn’t he?”

“What? You know—” Haven sputtered.

“Not now. Come back when you have time to talk.” The girl smiled and handed Haven a pair of cheap plastic flip-flops. “These are compliments of the house. Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have an umbrella, would you?” asked Beau.

A single streetlight stood beneath the Brooklyn Bridge overpass, casting a sickly yellow glow over the little brick building at the end of Water Street. The rain had turned into a downpour, and the city was deserted. Even the rats had given up and gone home for the night. Haven and Beau stood across the street from the house and silently watched. Inside, there were no signs of life.

“That’s the one,” Haven said. She knew Iain was in there. She could feel his presence the way she could feel her own heart beating inside her chest.

“Are you sure?” Beau whispered. “It looks totally abandoned.”

“I’m sure,” Haven confirmed. “I followed Padma here once. Rebecca, too. That’s Adam’s building.”

She led the charge across the cobblestones. A clogged gutter had created a swirling moat along the curb, and at the corner a whirlpool churned a mixture of cigarette butts and plastic grocery bags. Haven trudged through the fetid water in her flip-flops. When she reached the front door, she found it unlocked.

“Great security,” Beau remarked as they stepped inside, out of the rain.

“I don’t think he needs it,” Haven pointed out. “Nobody’s going to steal from Adam. Besides, what’s there to take?”

The bottom floor of the house was completely empty. There was no furniture—not even a single appliance. A saloon-style bar had once run the length of the room, but it had been ripped out and removed. All that was left behind were the scars in the plaster. The rain tapped on the windows, and a cool draft stirred the scraps of trash and leaves that had collected in every corner.

A piece of paper caught Beau’s eye, and he bent down to grab it off the floor. He straightened out the scrap and showed it to Haven. It was a newspaper clipping from 1963 describing the assassination of Lee Harvey Oswald. “I think we’ve got the wrong house,” Beau announced. “Nobody’s lived here for ages.”

“No, this is the place,” Haven insisted. “Let’s try upstairs.”

The second floor was equally barren. Beau flung open every door and searched every closet, but there was still no sign of Iain. When they climbed the stairs to the third floor, they found the first sign of habitation—a large room furnished with a single black lounge chair. Paintings covered every inch of the walls. They were crooked, overlapping, on top of each other, as if hung in a hurry by a madman. Christians were shown being fed to the lions, atom bombs detonated, gangs fought, and children were snatched away from their parents. And all of the works featured the same small figure watching in the distance.

“Now that’s pretty damn creepy,” Beau marveled.

“These are Marta Vega’s paintings. Adam must have stolen them after her show. He’s in all of them, you know.” Haven pointed to the little man in one of the scenes. He was standing in the middle of a rowdy crowd, watching a public hanging. “I guess Adam likes to admire his own handiwork.”

“There’s no accounting for taste, now is there?” Beau said in a failed attempt at humor. Despite his bravado there was an unexpected tremor in his voice. It was finally sinking in that he’d come terribly close to leaving a handsome young corpse. “Well, that’s it, Haven. We’ve looked everywhere, and right about now I’m thinking we should get the hell out of this place while we still have a chance.”

“No.” Haven refused. “Iain’s here. I’m sure of it. It doesn’t look like there’s an attic, so there must be a cellar or a basement in the building.”

Haven hurried back down the stairs. She could feel time slipping away. An army of gray men might arrive at any moment. Then Iain and Beau would die, and she’d end up a permanent exhibit in Rosier’s museum. Haven rushed from room to room on the main floor, searching them more thoroughly than before. Around the corner from where the bar had once been, Haven found a door leading to a set of wooden stairs that descended into darkness.

“You didn’t bring a flashlight, did you?” Beau asked.

“Nope.”

“And you’re still sure you want to do all this for someone who was willing to kill you?”

“Yep.” There wasn’t a doubt in Haven’s mind.

“All right, then,” Beau said, as if he had no option but to follow her. “Let’s do it.”

When the stairs came to an end, Haven felt around her in the darkness. To her left and right were walls. Walking forward slowly, she trailed her hand across the ragged bricks until her fingertips began to lose all sensation. Something crunched as her flip-flops met the floor.

“How long
is
this tunnel?” Beau whispered after they’d been walking through the darkness for the longest five minutes of their lives. “I’m pretty sure we’ve gone halfway to hell.”

“Shhh,” Haven replied. One of the walls had come to a sudden end, and another tunnel branched off to the right. At the end, a rectangle of light appeared etched in the wall.

Beyond the door, they entered what looked like a theater. In the center, a giant pit had been carved out of the Manhattan bedrock. Stands of wooden seats circled the hole. Haven sensed that terrible things had once taken place there, but now the pit was filled with a strange assortment of objects that had all been tossed inside. Staring up at Haven was the face of a wooden saint, which must have been ripped from the walls of a demolished church. She spotted an airplane life jacket, a gnarled car fender, and a skeletal hand. Rats dove and surfaced in the sea of junk, and the smell in the room suggested that there was plenty of food for them in the pit. A few were gnawing at a figure on top of the pile, rolled in a rug and wrapped with ropes.

Haven knew in an instant what they’d found. The pit was filled with Adam’s trophies, keepsakes he’d collected from the scenes of his triumphs. And sitting in the stands above the hole was Dr. Tidmore, reading a book, its pages illuminated by a clip-on book light. His gray hair was gone, replaced by its original red, and his clothes were stylish and youthful. The glasses he now wore featured the same chunky frames that Adam preferred. He looked ten years younger than the man she’d known in Snope City.

“What in
the
hell?” Beau’s eyes bounced back and forth between the preacher and the pit.

“Good afternoon, Haven. Hello, Beau.” Tidmore looked up from his book with an amused expression on his face. He didn’t appear at all perturbed by the interruption.

“What
is
this place?” Beau asked no one in particular as he continued to take in the scenery.

“It’s a rat-baiting pit, Mr. Decker,” Dr. Tidmore explained. “In the good old days it would have been coated in blood. Every evening men brought their prize dogs here so they could do battle with armies of rodents. Adam invented the sport. When it went out of fashion in New York, he found another use for the room.”

“Skip the history lessons,” Haven demanded, getting right to business. “Where’s Iain?”

“Enjoying some good company.” Tidmore gestured toward the figure in the pit, which had attracted a few more rats. “I told Adam I’d babysit him until he stopped struggling. Looks like my job may be over. Oops! Maybe not. I just saw a twitch.”

“You were just going to let him die?” Haven asked, her voice dripping with hatred.

“I would have killed him myself if that’s what Adam wanted.” Tidmore took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirttails. He seemed perfectly calm and reasonable. “Don’t you think you’re being a little bit precious about this, Haven? Your silly boyfriend will be back soon enough. So will your father, for that matter.”

“How could you murder other people just for points?” Haven snarled. “Didn’t you learn
anything
in church?”

Tidmore chuckled at her naiveté. “They aren’t
just
points, Haven. After this, I’ll have earned enough to reach to the highest level of the OS. It’s another realm entirely. There are no worries there, no unpleasantness. You live like a god. I will miss Snope City, though. It was nice having my own flock. Being important. Shaping people’s opinions . . .”

“Burning down houses. Destroying lives . . .” Haven added.

“Those were just bonuses,” Beau quipped.

“Well, you’re just going to have to wait a bit longer to move up in the world,” Haven told Tidmore. “We’re here to take Iain.”

“Be my guest.” Tidmore opened his book once more.

“Why are you—” Haven started to ask.

“As much as I would enjoy it, I’m forbidden to hurt you,” Tidmore explained without looking up. “You’re Adam’s queen. And you wouldn’t be here unless he allowed you to be here.”

Haven didn’t bother to question Tidmore’s story. Once she knew he could do nothing to stop her, she clambered down into the pit. As her legs sank into the muck, she tore off the ropes wrapped around the figure and rolled it out of the rug. Both of Iain’s wrists were tied, and a strip of black tape covered his mouth. But his eyes were open and aware. Haven gently unsealed his mouth.

“Iain, are you okay?” she asked. A tear fell before she remembered to hate him. “Have they hurt you?”

“No, but the last few hours haven’t been a whole lot of fun,” Iain said as she freed his limbs.

“Then let’s get out of here,” Haven said. Once she had finished untying him, she turned away and reached up for Beau’s hand.

“Hello, Beau,” Iain said after he, too, had been pulled to the surface.

“Why does everyone in New York seem to know me?” Beau demanded.

“Not the time. Not the place,” Haven told them. “Come on, you two.”

“You won’t make it very far,” Tidmore trilled, looking up from his book. “All you’re doing is delaying your destiny,” he added as Haven passed by him on the way out the door. “Even your nasty old grandma knew you’d end up in bed with the devil one day.”

Haven turned around, walked back to Tidmore, and punched him in the face. She bruised her knuckles in the process, but the pain felt good.

“You don’t really think this is the end?” Tidmore sniggered as blood dripped from his nose. “You’ll never be able to stop the Society. You have no idea how powerful Adam is or how many people he controls. There are gray men everywhere. You’ll never be able to escape.”

“Why don’t you just sit back and watch us?” Beau said.

Outside Rosier’s house, the rain had finally stopped. Haven had expected to be greeted by at least a gray man or two, but there was no one around to prevent them from fleeing.

“Follow me,” said Iain, sprinting west along Fulton Street. He didn’t stop until he’d reached the front of City Hall. There, a lush garden hid the city from view. The water in the garden’s fountain was dancing in the darkness, even though no one had been there to watch it.

“Is this safe?” Beau asked.

“Nothing’s safe,” Iain answered. “But I have a plan.”

“No.” Haven was finished.

“No?” Iain asked.

“Beau and I are leaving. I love you. I can’t help it. That’s why I saved your life, but now it’s over. There’s absolutely no way I could be with you after what you’ve done.”

Iain looked crushed. “What have I done?”

“You let them corrupt you. You killed Marta Vega for points. And if you ever hurt anyone again, I will personally hand you over to Adam Rosier and let him do what he wants with you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Haven. Marta Vega is in Mexico like I told you. I spoke with her this morning. She was on her way to a yoga class. Beau, do you have a cell phone I could borrow? We’ll give her a call right now.”

“No international service,” Beau apologized.

“Then you’ll just have to take my word for it,” Iain told Haven. “Please.”

“No,” Haven said, beginning to walk away. She could feel the strange pull he exerted on her, and she knew if she stayed there for long, she would never be able to withstand it. “Come on, Beau.”

“Stop!” Iain rushed after Haven and grabbed her arm. “Don’t you see? This is what Rosier wants. That’s why Tidmore let us go. Rosier thinks he’s already won. But he’s made a huge mistake. Please—just give me a chance to explain.”

Haven turned mutely to face him.

“Hey, you know what?” Beau said awkwardly. “I’m gonna go sit over there and let you guys have your little chat.” He pointed at a park bench on the other side of the fountain. “You just let me know when it’s over.”

Neither Haven nor Iain bothered to respond.

“Well, okay then,” Beau muttered to himself.

“Do you remember when Constance told Ethan that she’d seen Rebecca at the Water Street house?” Iain asked. Haven nodded. “After that, he went down to the docks to check it out. Rosier can be hard to recognize, but when Ethan saw the house and the pit, he finally realized who was framing him for murder. With Ethan in jail, Rosier could have Constance
and
the OS. I wasn’t going to let him have you—and I knew I couldn’t let him destroy Strickland’s Society. But we both died before I could stop him.