Another One Bites the Dust (14 page)

He thought awhile. “After my wife died I became something of a hermit. I spent a lot of time in the desert . So I would have to say the loneliness did it.” He took a sip of his coffee and smiled. “I spent so much time in my own head that I finally found a way beyond the grief and the loss. After years of study I learned to do the same for others.”

I nodded, but a kernel of doubt popped in my stomach. Yale didn’t come off like the wise old dream interpreter Cassandra had described. What the hell did this guy have in mind?

“Can you give me some idea of what to expect? Cassandra made it sound so easy.”

“It is,” he assured me. “We simply clasp hands and away we go.”

“Away where?” Was this kook going to make me literally revisit my nightmares? And where was Cassandra? She had some explaining to do!

The waitress came back with my drink, a refill for Desmond, and three sets of napkin-wrapped silverware. “Are you ready to order?” she asked.

“Still waiting on my friend,” I told her. “Actually, maybe I’ll go check on her, make sure she hasn’t fallen in.” The waitress smiled at my pathetic joke as she left, for which she would be tipped at least 15 percent.

I tried to stand, didn’t get the chair pushed back far enough, and knocked the table with my thigh. Biting back a curse as my tea wobbled, I put both hands on the table to steady it. But Desmond’s coffee cup tipped precariously. He caught it before it could crash, however, saving himself from a lap full of hot caffeine.

His hands.
I looked at the waitress, hoping she’d confirm what I’d seen, but she was looking over her shoulder at the babies, who’d awakened at the same time, howling. I knew that cry. It expressed something-spooked-me hysteria, the kind E.J. experienced every time she heard a siren. Tim now had to watch
COPS
in his bedroom with the door shut and the volume as low as he could stand it.

At the same time the toddlers were inspiring their moms to quick action, I saw Cassandra through the window. She rushed toward me, pointing at Desmond, shaking her head so hard her braids whipped across her face.

I looked at him again, almost sure now that I’d seen his hands blur as they’d moved to grab the coffee cup. That underneath those long, pinkish white fingers I’d caught the hint of claws.

“Don’t let him touch you!” screamed Cassandra as she burst through the café door.

I pulled my hands back, but too late. He caught them, pinned them to the table by sinking his fingernails (
claws
, my mind whispered frantically) deep into the soft areas between knuckles and wrist. It hurt so much I screamed. Blood welled up instantly, much more than such an injury should release. It flowed onto the table, dripped to the floor.

The babies wound it up a notch, and as soon as their moms saw my situation they joined right in. We were making a regular ruckus in the heart of the city. I’d heard so much about Texas SWAT, all of it good. Where were they in my time of need?

“What are you doing to me?” I yelled. I tried to pull my hands free. They might as well have been nailed to the table. Hell, maybe they were.

Desmond fixed me with those gleeful alien eyes and said, “You killed my best student, you little bitch. He had a real gift for reaving. Now I have only one left.” He cocked his head to one side, as if tuning to his own personal radio station. “Stop whining, all right? I’m getting to that.”

I fought panic as the schizoid reaver held me down, and one of the moms yelled into her cell phone, “Police! Woman being attacked! Sustenance on East Leopard!” I was glad to know the cavalry was on its way. But at the rate blood flowed from my hands, I’d be dead long before then. I was positioned so awkwardly I couldn’t have delivered an effective kick if I’d strapped on six-inch heels. So I went with my last resort.

Gathering all my breath, all my power, every last iota of energy in my aching body, I focused it all on that wrinkled piece of parchment between Desmond’s eyebrows. I imagined that spot highlighted with a big, black X, and slammed my head right into it.

The old reaver staggered backward, looking as stunned as if he’d been shot. Cassandra used that lull to drag the moms and their kids off the street and into the relative safety of the café.
I
used it to bind my bleeding mitts with two of the brown linen napkins that had been wrapped around silverware moments before.

The thought of pulling Grief never entered my mind. And I didn’t care if Desmond looked like somebody’s kindly Martian grandpa. I’d forgotten every lesson Vayl had tried to teach me about keeping a reasonable distance and decided to kick this reaver’s ass up close and personal.

I started with his torso.
Bam, bam, bam
. Three kicks to the diaphragm. Damn, it felt like hammering concrete blocks! Still, if he could breathe through his ears, now would be the time to start. The force of the blows backed him hard into a table. It caught him just under the ass and the momentum took him off his feet.

I hadn’t seen his shield, not once, until now. Maybe my attack had distracted Yale enough that he’d allowed it to show. Maybe I’d hurt him. But if so, no gaps appeared in the thick black outline that danced around him like a live wire, so I doubted I’d done much damage. However, I figured if I beat on him long enough a weak spot would eventually appear. Then I’d finish him. For now I kicked him again. Twice to the shoulder and once to the head to make sure he hit the ground.

But he hadn’t come to the game without a few tricks of his own. As he fell, he swept one leg around and caught me behind the knees, bringing me down. I rolled with the fall, taking the brunt of the impact on my butt.

Something came flying at me as I began to rise and I hit the deck again. Metal clattered against metal as it hit. Knife? Throwing star? Whatever, I figured it for lethal, and part of a set.

I rolled to my feet and lunged to my right as another missile flew past my head, the high-pitched whir of its spin making my ears throb. I watched it whirl into the street. It was a knife. An ancient one by the look of the black rune-covered hilt, with a curved blade that punctured the first minivan tire that hit it.

I upended a table and dove behind it just as Desmond pitched another close one. It sliced right through the metal and stopped just inches from my eye.
Holy crap!
Apparently they had access to Ginsu technology in Reaverland.

I wrestled Grief out of its holster, not an easy task with mummy hands. I nearly dropped it, and accidentally pushed the magic button as I recovered, which meant I suddenly held a crossbow rather than a pistol. At this point I didn’t even care. Anything that could fly through the air and hit the son of a bitch worked for me.

Sirens wailed somewhere close at hand.
Yes! Come on, boys! There may just be a big fat kiss in it for you if you get here before I pass out!

Another knife thudded into the table, ripping sleeve but missing skin. I bobbed up and took a quick shot. It hit Desmond’s shield, knocking him backward. But it didn’t even penetrate to his body. In full defensive mode now, he spun three more knives at me as he backed out of the seating area. When I rose to return the volley, all I could see was his back receding into the distance. The professor in Cassandra’s
Enkyklios
had neglected to mention the reavers’ vampirelike speed.

I considered chasing him. Okay, not really. The cops sounded interested, at least that’s how I interpreted those sirens. Which meant they’d want to get in on the fun. Plus I felt like hell.

I holstered Grief, took a couple of steps, and decided sitting sounded more appealing. My hands began to throb so loud they drowned out Cassandra’s first words to me.

“What’d you say?” I asked as she righted the chair that had been lying beside mine and took a seat.

“You look morbidly pale,” she told me.

“I lost a lot of blood.” I nodded to the small pool I’d made beneath my original table.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Orange juice and some chocolate-chip cookies.”
And somebody to pat me on the back and tell me I didn’t just screw something up here. I mean, I was the victim, right? Plus, nobody died, and our mission is still viable. So I feel like crying right now because . . . adrenaline and blood loss,
I decided.
It’s all chemistry, baby, and don’t you think any different
.

Cassandra went back into Sustenance. When I saw her rise to her full height, I realized the manager preferred that we leave as soon as possible. But it was hard to deny that regal command in her slashing hands (
How ’bout I just cut off your head, you uncooperative peasant?
) and her tone of voice. The snacks turned up just before the cops.

I wolfed down my first cookie, watching with interest as five squad cars pulled up, forming the spokes of half a wheel with Sustenance at the hub. A couple of nice officers began interviewing the hysterical moms, shortly after which two cars pulled away and headed off in the direction Desmond had taken.

A ruckus behind me distracted my attention. A small man with a pointy nose and enormous ears waving from behind his straight black sideburns came rushing out of the café followed closely by the manager.

“I have been banging on that door for a solid fifteen minutes! Don’t tell me you didn’t hear me!”

“I am so sorry, sir,” said the manager. He had a please-don’t-sue-us tone in his voice as he said, “Could I offer you a gift certificate for two complimentary dinners before you leave?”

Cassandra rose from the chair beside me. “Gregory?”

He came to her and grabbed her outstretched hands. “Cassandra! You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through!”

Her eyes went wide as he touched her. “Actually, I would.” She looked sharply at me. “The reaver locked him in their storeroom.”

I studied Gregory thoughtfully.

“What happened to her?” asked Gregory.

Cassandra filled him in. Even though she skipped a lot it still came out sounding überscary. He started backing toward his car before she was halfway through. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“I . . . I’m sorry, Cassandra. I can’t become involved in this.”

“But . . . her dreams. They could kill her, Gregory.”

I held up my hand before Cassandra felt like she had to beg the guy. “Let him go. He’s safer away from me. It’s what I’ve been trying to get you, Bergman, and Cole to do practically since the day we met.”

Gregory nodded his thanks and took off, not even waiting for his gift certificate.

“Very interesting.” We turned our attention to the handsome, bald black man from SWAT. The van had pulled up shortly after Gregory had charged out the door and though the five guys who’d dismounted seemed pretty disappointed to have missed the fun, one had strolled over to listen in. He’d also used Cassandra’s distraction to his advantage, openly admiring her while I wondered if there was any way on earth I could hook them up.

I stood. “Cassandra, my ID is in my left front pocket. Would you show it to Sergeant . . . ?”

“Preston,” he said, his voice a silky bass that made Cassandra stand a little straighter.

Cassandra retrieved my CIA identification, allowing me to sink back into my chair before the street could spin any faster.
More juice,
I decided, taking a couple of generous swigs before I inhaled another cookie.

Preston took some time examining the plastic he held. When he gave it back to Cassandra, their hands brushed and she gave him a long, sad look before turning away. Was she truly shrugging off this gorgeous young ass-kicker?
But . . . Cassandra . . . he’s SWAT!

“What can you tell me?” he asked. I knew it. Quick to pick up on my unspoken message but no doubt patient enough to lie still in the hot sun for hours until he got the order to pull the trigger. If these guys resembled Cleveland SWAT at all, they worked the paranormal cases. If not, oh well. I still felt I could trust them.

“Are you familiar with reavers?” I asked. He shook his head. Unsurprised, I said, “They’re killable, but just barely. I got one last night near the festival. He’d already murdered a man, but I nailed him before he could rip the guy’s soul off the good and narrow. You getting me?”

“You’re talking some high-level demon shit, right?” he asked. I nodded. “We don’t get much of that here. Mostly run-of-the-mill stuff. Coven wars. Revenge cursings. Domestic disputes over questionable potion use. That kind of stuff.”

“Well, here’s what I can tell you. I was just attacked by another reaver, apparently the first one’s floor boss. I seem to be the only one around who’s able to see these monsters’ weak spots, but I wasn’t finding one on this creep.” I gave him a full description. “You find Yale, I suggest you use the big guns. Flatten him with a steamroller. Drop a bomb on him. Do not underestimate him, okay?”

“Should I expect some weird shit to go down at the festival this week?”

“If it does, and we need backup, I’ll give you a call.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his card. Handing it to Cassandra, he said, “See that you do.”

Sergeant Preston made sure nobody else came to bother us, except an EMT who smelled of stale cigarette smoke and looked like she’d been up for the past forty-eight hours. I was the only one who didn’t wince when the makeshift bandages came off.

Desmond had marked me permanently. Four deep wounds in the back of each hand still oozed blood, but at a much less life-threatening rate. “You’re going to need stitches,” said the EMT.