Catskinner's Book (The Book Of Lost Doors) (15 page)

At first it looked like molten copper was pouring out of the back of the truck, waves of heat shimmers rising over it. But why would they be pointing guns at molten metal?

“What the hell are they?” Godiva hissed.

“Minraudim,” White spat back.

He swung the shotgun and fired a half dozen rounds into the advancing mass. Instead of splashes, there was a confused tangle of lines that resolved themselves into legs and bits of shell, and all of a sudden I realized that I was looking at a swarm of centipedes—hot metal centipedes. The shotgun blasts had torn a whole in the swarm, but they closed ranks and kept coming.

White pulled open the car door and reached inside for more shells. Russwin emptied his gun into the swarm as White reloaded and after a moment Godiva did likewise. The bullets were killing individual centipedes—minraudim, White had called them—but there were far too many of them for killing them one at a time to save us.

Got any ideas? I asked Catskinner in my head.

“
we should run,
” he said aloud.
 

“Great idea!” White agreed. He had the shotgun ready again, and swept it in an arc, firing another six shots. “Your van?”

Godiva was struggling with the gun, trying to get the clip out. Russwin grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her towards the van. Catskinner spun me and I sprinted for the driver's door. He swung me inside and released me, and my vision went gray. I struggled to get the keys out of my pocket. I was drained. Catskinner had pushed my body too far, too fast, with too little time to recover.
 

The others reached the van. Russwin was first through the door, I handed him the keys and struggled into the back.

“You drive,” I managed to gasp out.

He took the keys and slid into the driver's seat, pushing me out of the way. I hit the floor and Godiva scrambled over to me. Russwin started the van and floored it as White was still climbing into the passenger seat. Godiva landed on me in a heap. She smelled nice, but it still hurt.
 

“James.” Godiva pulled me so that I was lying on her more than the other way around. “What's wrong?”
 

Dimly I was aware of a blast of heat as the fed's car burst into flame. Russwin had gotten the van turned around and was heading down the alley behind the store. I hoped it led out to the street eventually.

“I'm just tired.” I was losing consciousness. “He . . . .”
 

I felt her smooth small hands encircling my face and she pulled her face to mine. “Relax,” she whispered. “Just take it.” And then her lips were against mine. She still had her teeth in, and I could feel how they didn't quite fit, that more was moving in her mouth than just her tongue. I could taste sweetness on her lips.
 

Then something in her chest heaved and my mouth was suddenly full of something thick and sweet.  Shocked, I started to choke and then swallowed it. Her chest heaved again and she fed me more of it, it was warm and tasted faintly of mint.

“Oh, fergoodnesssake!” I heard White's disgusted mutter from the front seat. I opened my eyes.

Godiva pulled back her face from mine and I drew in a long breath.

“Better?” she asked softly.

I realized it was better. Whatever she'd produced for me must have been nearly pure glucose sugar, and I felt energy returning.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

She smiled at me, then turned to White. “We need to stop and get some food.”

“Now?” Russwin asked irritably.

“As soon as possible,” I said. “Catskinner—my outsider friend—burns a lot of calories.”

“Makes sense,” White said grudgingly. Then to Russwin, “We've got time—no one's going to follow us out of that.”

I managed to sit up enough to look out the window. The entire store that had housed the nest was engulfed in flames. The sky was dark with smoke.

“Morgan,” I said. “He figured if they wouldn't work for him. . . .”
 

“Then they won't be working for anyone,” White agreed. “He's a son of a bitch, all right.”

The alley reached a cross street at the end and Russwin turned onto it, headed back to Manchester. There was a fast food place on the corner.
 

“This do you?” Russwin asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Get me one of everything, and supersize it.”
 

We ordered through the drive-thru and then parked in the lot. While I engulfed forty bucks worth of burgers and fries Godiva talked strategy with Russwin and White. I didn't really listen. I had already decided to go along with whatever she wanted to do. She was clearly smarter than I was, and besides, I had another conversation to listen that was more important.
 

You could have killed us.

the fire arachnids would have done so.
 

Granted. Still, I don't want to cut it that close again.

we should keep food in the van.

Also granted. You also need to be more aware of how my body is doing.

i can keep the body safe.

So can I. You can't be out all the time. You have to trust me.

i trust you. i don't trust the world.
 

Do you trust Godiva?

i don't trust the world.

She saved our life.

That reminded me of something. I turned to Godiva. “Do you want some food?  I mean, do you need it after . . . doing that?”
 

She shook her head. “I'm okay.”

“How about you guys?” I asked the two agents. “You want anything?  I'm buying.”

A grunt from White. Russwin said, “Yeah, I could use a soda. Something with caffeine in it.”

White said, “Yeah, now that you mention it, me, too. It's been a long day.”

“I'll be right back.”  I slid open the sliding door and stepped out. Catskinner was aware, his attention radiating all around me, but I didn't feel it focused on anything in particular and he wasn't trying to take control.

I thought about what he said as I crossed the lot to the restaurant.

i trust you. i don't trust the world.
 

I had to admit he had a point.

Once I got back to the van with the sodas, they had decided what to do next. We were going to head up to the bowling alley and meet with Alice again. Some plan. I could have thought of that one myself.

I was feeling better, so I told Russwin to get out of the way and let me drive. He got in the back with Godiva.

Alice was already sitting at a big table in the back when we got there. White volunteered to fetch drinks while the rest of us joined her.

“Okay, so what happened?” Alice began.

Godiva looked over at Russwin. He nodded and gave Alice a brief rundown of the events.

“Any chance that it wasn't Morgan who sent those things?” Alice asked when he was done.

Godiva frowned. “I suppose it's possible. . . .”

White had come back by that point. “Who else would make a blatant move like that against the Manchester nest?” he asked.

“Wait—” I objected. “You figure the nest was the target? I thought they were after us.”

“They were,” White agreed. “But using minraudim is like using a nuke—you have to expect collateral damage. Even if you hadn't killed their handler, they would have still burned the nest. They burn everything in their path.”

“And now they're loose in West County?” That didn't sound good at all.

Russwin shook his head. “They don't live long in this environment. It's too cold—even with all the fires they set. Odds are they are already dead and reverted.”

“Reverted?” Another new word.

Alice explained. “Most exobiotics are inherently unstable. They don't belong in this universe. It's like . . . holding a balloon underwater, it takes energy to keep them here. Once the energy is gone, they sort of fall apart.”

I consider that. “Like the dish soap thing?”

“Exactly.”

“What's OTH mean?” Godiva asked White suddenly.

He stared at her. “Huh?”

“Before your partner called Alice you said she never works with OTH assets. What did you mean by that?”

Russwin leaned over the table. “Other Than Human,” he explained softly. “No offense, but the two of you are.”

Godiva turned to Alice and raised her eyebrows.

“I do not work with 'assets', I work with people,” Alice said angrily. She turned her glare to White. “And yes, I do work with people who have been altered.”

White didn't seem at all uncomfortable. “It's not your usual MO. Considering this guy's rep”—he nodded in my direction—“I figured the odds were against you having a conversation with him and staying healthy.”

“And yet here I am,” Alice pointed out.

“And here I am, too.” I was starting to find White really annoying. “This guy doesn't just slaughter everyone he meets, you know.”

White turned to me. “Maybe not every single person, no.”

“James, like it or not, you are a very dangerous man,” Russwin said. “Threat assessment deals with capabilities, not intentions.”

That reminded me of something. “Alice, you know these two?”

She nodded. “We've worked together in the past.”

“Are they really federal agents?”

Alice gave a wry smile. “They're campers.”

“Campers?” Godiva was looking interested, too.

“Basically they find an empty office in a federal building and move in.” Alice explained.

I stared at the men. “Does that work?”

“She's oversimplifying,” Russwin said.

White frowned. “We arrange for lateral transfers into temporarily understaffed positions.”

Godiva grinned. “And no one ever questions who sent you?”

“All it takes is an understanding of how the bureaucracy operates and fair amount of chutzpa,” Alice continued. “When a department needs help and someone shows up to work, most people aren't going to look too hard at the paperwork.”

“As I said earlier, Russwin and I are specialists. We bring a unique understanding of certain lesser acknowledged phenomenon to our assignments.” White took a drink of his soda. “We go where there is a need.”

Godiva raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

Russwin stood up. “Thanks for the lift, but I think my partner and I have work to do. See you around.”

White sighed and stayed where he was. “Sit down, Cobb,” he said. “I think it's a little late to just walk away.”

Russwin shook his head. “I don't think this is our fight, Tom.”

Godiva looked up at him. “Please, Mr. Russwin. We could use your help.”

Russwin sat back down. “What kind of help?”

“Information, mostly. What can you tell us about Morgan?”

Russwin sighed. “He's mid-thirties, born in Chicago, moved here to go to school. Started as a math major, moved to education, then dropped out. He's got a record, all little stuff. Shoplifting, misdemeanor possession, a credit card fraud charge that was later dismissed. About ten years ago he started making big money as a day trader. Then he fell off the grid. No bank accounts, no tax returns, no driver's license, no vehicle registration—nothing. Just vanished.”

Godiva frowned. “What about The Good Earth?”

White picked it up. “On paper it's owned by a 501c3 nonprofit called The Good Earth Food Co-Op. It doesn't have any employees, and the officers are just names and post office boxes. We know Morgan owns it, and a bunch of other crap, but we can't prove it.”

“Post office boxes,” I mused. “Someone has to pick up the mail, right? I mean, they get official documents and stuff there.”

“A messenger service,” Alice interjected. “I looked into that, it's a dead end.”

I frowned. “He can't get everything delivered.”

“Actually, he can,” White said.

Godiva shook her head. “There has got to be some way to draw him out. Something that he'll have to deal with in person.”

“Look, maybe we're thinking about this all wrong—” I started.

Everybody looked at me expectantly. Oh, right, now I was supposed to explain what thinking about it all right would be. Unfortunately, I didn't have any clear idea.

“Are we sure that we can't come to some kind of arrangement? I mean, does this have to be about killing somebody?” I tried.

Russwin leaned back, folded his arms. “Honestly, I never expected you to be advocating restraint.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?” I didn't like his tone.

“Well, from what I know about you—” he started.

I didn't let him finish. “You don't know anything about me.”

He cocked his head. “Actually, we do. James Ozryck, known associate of Victor Sells, aka Victor Scziller, aka Viktor Szeck,” Russwin handled the Eastern European names better than I did, “suspected involvement in no fewer than seventy counts of murder one. You're a killer for hire, and a damned good one.”

I looked down at my hands. “You don't know anything about me,” I repeated.

Russwin kept going. “Believed also to be Adam Chase, which if true would put the count closer to a hundred and fifty.”

I looked up and met his eyes. “I have never killed anyone,” I said softly.

An exaggerated eye-roll. “Oh, that's right, it's not you, it's that thing inside you. Well, you know something, it doesn't make one damn bit of difference to me.”

“That's because you're an idiot,” Godiva blurted out.

Russwin glared at her. White stifled a snort.

 Godiva refused to back down. “Well, you are. It makes a huge difference. How long did it take Catskinner to take your gun away?  Half a second?  Why do you think he didn't go ahead and kill you?  Because James isn't a killer—and that's why you're alive right now.”