Darker Things (The Lockman Chronicles #1) (16 page)

What could an ogre expect? That he would be accepted here? But hadn’t Eliza accepted him? Which only meant there had to be some screw loose there.

“I didn’t come here to insult you.”

“You came here for weapons.”

“You still deal?”

“What other kind of work could a six-eleven ogre get on this plane?” He pulled a pen and small moleskin notebook out of his pants pocket. “Tell me what you’re hoping for. I’ll have to check the storage shed.”

“I’m not sure yet. I need to know what I’m up against.”

“You think I can tell you that?”

“What does your prophecy say?”

Something smacked the side of his leg.

Jessie said, “Stop being a dick.”

Marty grinned, yellow teeth and all. “I like her.”

“She’s still under the delusion there’s good mojo out there.”

“There isn’t?”

Lockman slammed his beer can onto the coffee table. “You know there isn’t.”

Marty shrugged. “You can’t prove a negative. Just because it hasn’t been witnessed, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“Fine, you two can talk philosophy after I get my info and my guns.”

Jessie picked up her soda can and opened it. “He doesn’t seem evil to me.”

“That’s because you didn’t see him kill half a dozen good men with his bare hands.”

Marty closed his eyes and grimaced.

Jessie froze with her soda can halfway to her lips.

“That was before the chip, of course.”

Marty opened his eyes. They looked moist. “That was before a lot of things.”

“I want to make sure my daughter has a full picture of both sides. Now can we cut the shit and get on with this?”

“What do you need?”

“I’ve tried to reconnect with the Agency, but my channel was cut off.”

“That’s because there is no Agency anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Priorities change. Even ultra-covert operations require funding, and Washington isn’t interested in threats it doesn’t necessarily believe in.”

Lockman raked a hand through his hair. “Then what’s your story? Why are you still here?”

“Because I was waiting for you. You don’t have to believe in my religion. But I know things. Things told to me in dreams and the patterns of the world around me. The Agency calmed my natural rage with this chip.” He tapped a thick finger to his temple. “But my Gulogich nature remains. It manifested in a new way. My people used to be shamans before they grew to hunger for battle. I’m going back to those roots.”

“Clairvoyance is documented among some supernaturals and even a few mortals.”

“It’s not clairvoyance. It’s more than that.”

“Then tell me why I’m here?”

His eyes lit as his gaze turned to Jessie. “As a test, or because you really don’t know?”

“I think I liked you better when you spoke in grunts and crushed skulls.”

Jessie spat air. “You’re being a dick again.”

Lockman ignored her for the moment. If vampires, a shape shifter, and a ghost couldn’t convince her of the danger of the supernatural, nothing he said ever would.

“I’m here because Dolan found me, Marty. And he’s coming at me with all sorts of crazy supernatural shit. On top of trying to take me alive, he’s nearly had my daughter killed and he’s taken her mother. That’s why I’m here, and that’s why I’m not in the mood for any mojo bullshit.”

Marty leaned his elbows on his knees. The sleeves on his hockey jersey slid up to reveal the red curls on his wrists. “Otto Dolan.”

“The one and only.”

“The Agency hid you away, so if he found you, someone from the Agency must have helped.”

“Not just somebody. Victor Creed.”

“No effing way.”

“I was hoping you could hook up a meeting with him, but if the Agency was liquidated…”

“Yeah, I don’t have any more ties there. That doesn’t mean I can’t find Creed.”

“How?”

Jessie groaned as if she thought Lockman was so dense. “You haven’t listened to him at all, have you?”

Lockman looked back and forth between his daughter and the ogre. He wasn’t sure at the moment which was more fantastical. He had accepted the reality of ogres long before the idea of being a father.

“You’re talking about mojo.”

Marty smirked and rubbed his chin. “I always wondered why you guys in the Agency called it mojo instead of magic. After all, you refer to those of us from other plains by the common names of your literature.”

“Is that a question?”

“Sort of. Though I think I know the answer. It’s one thing to accept a being that’s far different from you. It’s a whole other deal to embrace the power that so defies your physics.”

“That’s insightful, Marty. And beside the point. I don’t care how you do it, if you can tell me how to find Creed, I’m in.”

“Then I’ll need to brew some tea. While the water’s boiling we can go over the weaponry you think you’ll need.”

“Yeah,” Jessie said. “Maybe we can do better than a little cross this time.”

Marty bellowed with laughter. “A crucifix, Lockman? Really?” He pointed at Jessie. “You better watch out for this one.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“That was fun,” Jessie said as Lockman pulled out of the self storage facility where Marty had loaded the trunk with their arsenal.

He waited to reply, trying to pick his words carefully. Dawn tainted the sky with pale light. Lockman had to keep blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“Are ogres nocturnal?” Jessie asked.

“No.”

“Then what was he doing up at three in the morning as if it was the middle of the day?”

“Ogres do not sleep.”

“So than his wife must be the nocturnal one.”

The right words did not surface, so he went with the first words. “This is not a game. It isn’t fun. The dangers are real.”

“Hello? I was there when the vampires shot up your house. It was my boyfriend possessed by some glowy spirit thing. And it’s my mom and stepdad who were kidnapped.”

“And yet you sit across from an ogre as if he’s the dad of one of your friend’s from school.”

“He was perfectly nice. I’d even say charming.”

“And you’d say that based on a couple hours with him. Like I said, he wasn’t always so…charming. He killed people, people I knew well.”

“People in the Agency?”

“Yes.”

Lockman picked up the map Marty had printed from the internet with his directions scribbled over it. How the ogre had come up with the location he couldn’t begin to guess. It turned out the tea wasn’t for reading leaves, but for him to sip while gazing at a computer screen, scrolling through a popular satellite map site. Seemingly at random, Marty would zoom in on the map, or scroll along, until eventually he had honed in on a specific address.

No flashing lights. No elaborate ritual. Just checking a map on the internet.

Turned out Creed hadn’t moved far. Assuming the info was legit, Lockman’s old boss lived in a small farming community in southeast Michigan. From the satellite map, it had looked like he lived on a large amount of acreage, possibly an old farmstead. Not the kind of place Lockman pictured his old boss retiring too. Then again, he never imagined his boss would retire in the first place. He saw the old man sticking to the job until he keeled over in the middle of an operation.

Jessie tapped on her armrest, a specific rhythm to a song that must have played in her head. “He didn’t have to help us.”

Lockman set down the map. “That garbage about prophecy and the foretelling of my arrival? He has his own agenda, I’m sure.”

“You don’t believe that foretelling stuff?”

“I believe
he
believes it. Whatever he thinks is going to happen, he has his own angle.”

“Everyone’s got an angle to you.”

“That’s because everybody does. Including you. You didn’t travel across the country to see me for
my
benefit.”

She shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I’m out to get you.”

“I never said Marty was out to get me. I said he has an angle. That means his interests come first.”

“You don’t think anyone does anything just to be nice?”

“No. And before you forget it, Marty is not your friend. He’s dangerous, chip or no chip.”

“People change.”

“Maybe. But Marty isn’t a person.”

Kate waited for them to question her as the man with the radio voice had promised. How long, she didn’t know. Time had warped and stretched after they put the hood on her head. Her claustrophobia had leveled off to a manageable level, probably because she was more afraid of what would happen if they took the hood off. Whatever questions they had for her, she was certain she didn’t have the answers. And when she couldn’t answer? What then?

She thought about Jessie and Craig. Hoped he had found her and was keeping her safe. Hoped he would be willing to continue doing so for some time if Kate didn’t make it out of this alive.

The idea of leaving Jessie behind burned her. She twisted her wrists against her bonds, trying to pull some slack into them so she could slip out. The plastic cut into her skin and forced her to stop before she hardly got started.

The bitterness on her breath sharpened. Hot sweat rolled down her sides from under her arms. “Come on you assholes. Question me already.”

The shrill echo of her own voice answered back. Nothing else so much as stirred. Could they even hear her?

In her mind’s eye she saw Jessie grinning proudly as she screened her first short movie on their TV at home, Kate the only audience member. This was before Alec. The movie had a few friends made up like zombies with several scenes showing the zombies chewing on the leftover barbeque chicken Kate had made for dinner earlier in the week to stand in for human flesh.

She remembered laughing. Exactly the wrong reaction. Jessie’s face darkened, shoulders hunched. She turned off the movie before the end and stormed out of the room. Kate’s apologies had no effect. From then on, Kate had to view her daughter’s creative efforts the same way as everyone else—on the web. No more special screenings just for her.

Despite the pain, Kate tried to pull her hands through the zip tie around her wrists. She bit down as lines of fire seared across each wrist. Tears welled in her eyes. She tasted the salt of her sweat off her upper lip.

She had to stop when her head grew light and her ears rang from holding her breath against the pain. Wet warmth coated her wrists. She hoped it was just sweat, but suspected she had drawn blood.

Her daughter was out there, needed her. She had to escape, no matter the pain. Even if she had to tear the skin from her wrists, she had to get free.

She took a deep breath to steel herself. A good, hard yank might be enough to tear a hand free. The pain would no doubt be magnificent.

On three.

One.

Two.

The sound of rust corroded hinges cried out close by. The door to the room they had taken her to. Footsteps marched in.

“What have you done with my husband?”

At least three, maybe four, bodies moved to surround her. Two sets of hands grabbed her by the arms again.

A man said, “Christ, look what she did to her wrists.”

“Shut up and let’s go,” a woman answered.

Then they had her on her feet and stumbling along to God knew where.

“Can’t you see you’ve made a mistake? I don’t know anything.”

The crew escorting her didn’t speak. Their silence disturbed her more than any possible reply. It spoke of disconnection, a denial of her humanity, just as an executioner would not speak to a prisoner to be hanged.

“Please don’t kill me.”

They walked through what sounded like a large space based on the quality of echoes their footsteps made. A moment later the thinnest breeze touched the skin on her arms. They had taken her outside. She could hear car traffic in the distance.

Certain they had taken her to a back alley of some kind to put a bullet in her brain, she let loose with all her fear and anger as fuel. She kicked and pulled and thrashed. Her elbow connected with the side of someone’s head. A kick landed on another’s shin. Then something hard collided into her stomach and knocked the air clean out of her.

She dropped to her knees, gasping for air, made all the more difficult with the hood over her head. She kept sucking and getting the hood’s fabric in her mouth.

Her lungs finally opened enough to allow the air back in and the clenching in her chest gave way to the deep ache in her belly.

She no sooner caught her breath and the hands grabbed her again and lifted her off her feet. A dizzying moment as they held her aloft then the hands released her and she tumbled onto a familiar surface—the carpeted floor of a van.

“You never questioned me,” she said. Her voice sounded weak and stunned to her. “What about Alec? Where is my husband?”

“Kate?”

She twisted on the floor to face the direction of his voice. “Alec? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“What did they—”

“Shut up.” The van rocked as someone climbed in back with them. “Time enough for family catch-up later.”

The van doors slammed shut and the engine rumbled to life.

Kate struggled to a sitting position then scooted until she came against Alec. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispered.