Whisper of Shadows (The Diamond City Magic Novels) (9 page)

Chapter 6

I WAITED, STRAINING to hear above my heart pounding in my ears and the harsh sound of my breathing.
If you don’t get a grip, you’re going to get caught
, I told myself.
If you get caught, no one is going to help Price. Or Touray
, I added as an afterthought. But it was the latter that spurred my control. Without Touray, without me, Price was alone. What were they doing to him?
Anything they wanted
, a nasty little voice whispered. The only limit to the interrogation was no permanent physical damage. That left a lot of open territory.

Price was counting on us to help him. I wasn’t going to let him down.

I forced myself to relax. My breathing slowed and my heartbeat steadied.

I let sounds come to me, identifying the squeal of car tires, the grumble of engines, the distant rushing sound of cars speeding along Valger Boulevard. The accident must have been cleared.

I wasn’t sure how long it was before I heard anything else. At first I thought the rasping scuff was my imagination. I tensed, concentrating. Footsteps followed by a mutter of voices. I couldn’t make any words out.

They grew louder.

“—come in,” a man said, his voice high-pitched and young.

“If she is hiding inside, we’ll let you know. In the meantime, stay put and keep a sharp watch,” another man said. He was older. “The boss won’t like it much if we let her slip through our fingers. And what the boss don’t like, you will hate for the rest of your miserable, short life.”

“You think they were lying? Faking it?” The younger one sounded both defiant and scared at the same time. “They’re stupid food grunts.”

“And you are a stupid muscle grunt,” replied the second man. “It pays to be careful and cover all our bases. Now shut the fuck up so Ally can concentrate. It’s blue-ball cold out here and I want to finish this job so I can get a drink and a hot meal.”

I heard breathing after that and not much else for several minutes.

Finally a woman spoke. “Got it.”

I heard sound of the door opening and the scuffle of feet. I remained still, certain that the younger watcher still remained. The minutes ticked by. I could stay here all night, I told myself. I might freeze to death, but I could stay here.

“She’s playing possum in the stairwell,” the older man said. “Get the others and bring them inside where it’s warm.”

“About fucking time,” the younger man groused. His steps retreated away from the back door. I waited. A few minutes later, he returned with several others.

“Wonder if there’s anything to eat?” a man asked.

“Christ, Jerry. Do you ever stop eating?” a woman asked.

“Gotta maintain my girlish figure,” the first man said.

“Your girlish figure is nine months pregnant.” Several voices laughed at that.

Their banter continued, but I couldn’t make out the words. Abruptly, the sounds of their voices ceased as the door shut. I didn’t wait for another chance. I took my knife and cut around the side of the bag just above my knees. I pressed the point hard enough to dig a groove into the plastic of the can. I traced the slit with my fingers. When I’d managed to cut three-quarters of a circle around myself, I figured it was enough.

I lifted my arms, pushing away the top of the bag and, with it, all the trash that had been piled on top of me. The employees had used another bag to help contain it, so rotten food didn’t slide down over my face and down my back. Thank goodness for small favors. The stuff
smelled
. Almost enough to make me want to throw up. The stench of fish gone bad combined with who knows what else filled the air. My eyes watered.

I used the edges of the can to hoist myself upright, grimacing as I encountered something sticky. I waited as circulation returned to my legs. My flesh prickled, and then little stabbing aches thrust down through my thighs and calves. With absolutely no grace or coordination, I dragged myself out of the can. Lucky for me, the wall was close by. I grabbed an electrical conduit and used it for balance.

Once I was steady enough, I made a beeline down to the end of the row of buildings. I stuck close to the darker shadows against the back wall and ducked behind every bit of cover that presented itself. The back of my neck prickled. How long before the goon squad broke through into the stairwell and realized I was long gone?

I reached the street and turned toward the subway-station entrance. Even as I did, I changed my mind. At this hour, the trains only ran every twenty-five minutes. If I went down to the platform, I’d be a sitting duck until I could catch a train, and if my pursuers caught the same train, I’d be up a creek with no paddle, no hip waders, and no rubber ducky.

I turned right up a dark street. My coordination had returned, and I broke into a slow jog. I wanted to run faster, but there was a lot of ice and spraining my ass was not going to help me escape. I thought about breaking the flare I still carried so I’d have more light, but that would be a beacon for anyone looking for me. I was freezing. I’d pulled on the gloves Touray had given me, but I still wasn’t sure I could manage to hold my gun, much less shoot it. Not that it would do me a lot of good against multiple assailants.

I zigzagged through an apartment complex and crossed the next street. I swore as I realized I was at the back side of Livingston Manor. An iron fence fortified with a variety of powerful spells prevented trespassers. I’d left the range of the binder spells behind about a block ago, so the security was in full force. Given time, I could have ripped through those spells, but I didn’t have any. Plus I needed to save my strength. For Price.

With little choice, I ran up the sidewalk. It made a long white streak between the roadway and the fence. I decided to cross back to the other side of the street and look for a place where I could hole up for a while. Maybe an all-night coffee shop. Maybe I’d just break into someone’s car and wait until morning and the streets grew crowded again. I’d get lost in the shuffle.

I’d just turned into the parking lot of an urgent-care center when a car pulled in behind me. I stiffened, but moved to the side, keeping my head down. The car rolled up next to me. The passenger window rolled down.

“Glad to see you didn’t get yourself dead. Get in.”

At the sound of Special Agent Bitch Arnow’s voice, I went from freezing cold to searing hot. I turned to face the car, my fingers wrapping the grip of my gun in my coat pocket.

“How did you know where to find me?”

She flung herself across the seat to thrust open the door. “Just get in the damned car before you get yourself killed.”

“So you can what—kidnap me? Sell me to the highest bidder? I don’t think so.” I started walking.

“They called in backup. You won’t get far if you don’t let me help you.”

I stopped. “How do you know?”

“Because I know. Get in.”

I glanced around. I didn’t see any of the goon squad, but that didn’t mean they weren’t hunting for me. I got in. I had a gun and a knife. Having her hands on the wheel meant Arnow couldn’t do much to me. Plus she wanted me to help her. That meant she wasn’t going to turn me over to Morrell. Not right away, anyhow. I had to risk it.

I sighed as warmth hit me. The heater was blowing full blast. Arnow hooked a U-turn and pulled back out onto the road.

“How did you find me?” Would she lie? Tell me she was just in the neighborhood?

“I followed you from FBI headquarters.”

“So you you’re saying you didn’t have anything to do with those goons hunting me.”

“Would you believe me if I said no?” She shot me a sideways glance.

“Probably not.”

She shrugged. “It was Savannah Morrell.”

“You’re on her payroll.”

Another shrug. I took that as confirmation. I’d already thought she was. When I’d been trapped in Touray’s warehouse, the FBI had attacked at Arnow’s instigation. We’d escaped, but ended up ambushed by Savannah Morrell and her Tyet cronies. I’d always thought Arnow had a hand in it. This just made me more sure.

“You told her Touray and I were at FBI headquarters.”

“What makes you think so?”

It wasn’t a denial. I glared. “Am I wrong?”

“I didn’t tell her.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I? I need you free and alive.” Arnow dragged her fingers through her hair, pulling strands out of her already-messy ponytail. When she gripped the steering wheel again, I noticed that her hands shook. Both gestures were totally unlike the cool and collected control-freak agent I’d come to know and hate.

“If not you, then who?” I asked, still not believing.

“Another agent, maybe. Maybe one of your bodyguards. Maybe she’s having you followed.”

The last one was more than a little likely. Even so, I wasn’t sure I believed Arnow. Still, it was true that if she really needed me, then she didn’t want Morrell to get her claws into me.

“You could have stepped in to help me sooner,” I pointed out.

“I figured Touray would travel you out.” She shook her head. “He had a window of opportunity. He should have taken it. What was he thinking by running into that mess?”

What she didn’t know was that the one and only time Touray had taken me through dreamspace, I’d nearly died. Even if he hadn’t gone on the rescue mission to help the injured in the accident, he wasn’t in a hurry to try again. He needed me for his plans. Not to mention he claimed me as family now, though I wasn’t sure that was nearly as important to him as my trace talent was.

“And yet you followed us anyhow,” I said derisively.

“You don’t always do what’s expected,” she said. “Plus I didn’t have anywhere else to be. I figured I’d hang around just in case. Lucky for you I did.”

“And Touray?”

“They got him.”

“Dammit.” What would Savannah Morrell do to him? She wasn’t exactly known to be Glinda, the good witch. She was more the psychotic witch from the land of We Are So Fucked. She’d probably enjoy torturing him. At least she’d keep him alive. He had some of the Kensington artifacts, and she wanted them. Until he gave them up, she wouldn’t kill him.

Zachary Kensington had formulated a magical weapon in the early days of Diamond City, when the place had been an Old West-style Tyet war zone. Though no one now knew what the weapon could actually do, supposedly it had allowed him to establish order in the city and bring the other Tyet factions to heel.

At some point after that, Kensington had broken up the weapon into different pieces and hidden them. He’d thought the weapon too powerful for anybody else to use. Or maybe he thought someone else would use it to become the next Hitler or Caligula.

I’d stumbled across three of the pieces while trying to find my almost-brother-in-law, Josh, when he got kidnapped. Touray had ended up in possession of those pieces. He was determined to find the rest and repeat Kensington’s feat. In the last ten years or so, the violence and killing had increased exponentially in the city. Just last year, the
New York Times
or
Time Magazine
or some other news outlet had declared our fair city the murder capital of America, and well on its way to becoming deadliest in the world. Touray’s mission was to stop the eruptions of violence. I’m not saying he was Martin Luther King Jr. or Gandhi—peace and joy weren’t exactly his hallmarks. Touray just wanted to bring the death toll down to a tolerable level. Whatever the fuck that was. I wasn’t so sure that having the Kensington weapon was the best plan. Let’s face it—that kind of power, if it was true, would seriously tempt a saint. Touray was anything but.

He also wasn’t the only one after Kensington’s weapon. All the bad guys were, too. I groaned inwardly. Since when was Touray
not
on my bad-guy list? I gritted my teeth, disliking my train of thought. Maybe since he ran into an ambush to help people trapped in an ambulance.

I sighed and turned my attention back to Arnow. It annoyed me that she had been just as surprised as I was that Touray had jumped into the Good Samaritan role without thinking about his own safety. No, that wasn’t true. It was worse. He had thought about his safety and totally disregarded it. I didn’t like that she and I shared anything, even a little bit of surprise. It made me want to reconsider my opinion of him, which irritated the hell out of me. Because if he was a good guy, if his default reaction was to run toward the fire, he was actually going to do good things with the weapon, which meant I was going to have to help him.

I decided to jump off that cliff when I came to it.

“I could have used a hand in the restaurant. They almost had me.”

“Couldn’t risk it. I’m supposed to be in Denver. Anyhow, you’re not stupid. I figured you’d worm your way out. You’re good at that.”

“And if I didn’t? What about these people you want me to find? What happens to them if I don’t help you?” I wanted to yank the question back. I didn’t want to know, because then I’d feel guilty, and then I’d have to help.

Arnow’s chin jutted, and she punched the gas. The car skidded, and she took her foot off the accelerator and steered into the slide until she had control again.

“Looks like I hit a nerve,” I observed.

“With or without you, I’m going to find them,” she said.

“That’s good, because I wouldn’t spit on you if you were dying of thirst.”

One corner of her mouth lifted. “And yet you
are
going to help me.”

“Like hell.”

“Where do you want to go? Back to your stepmother’s?” she asked.

I flinched. I hated that she knew where Mel lived. Not that it was a secret. Not that the FBI hadn’t broken down the front door. Arnow was FBI—finding Mel’s address would have taken a couple of keystrokes.

“Yes,” I said.

“You aren’t going to ask why you’re going to help me?”