Dearly, Beloved (47 page)

“I’m Bai,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road but only one hand on the steering wheel. She fished around inside her worn boy’s private school jacket—at least, that’s what it looked like, with a crest on the pocket—and pulled out three letters with broken black wax seals. “Ronnie’s niece.”

“Bram.”

“I know.” She handed me the letters. “Read.”

I didn’t for a few seconds, watching to see where Bai meant to take us. After a few turns convinced me she was intending to circle the park, I opened the letters.

Five grand now, five later. Nora Dearly, Bram Griswold, 1423 Element Street, Violet Hill, Elysian Fields, New London
.

Call off the girl. I will bring her myself, or not, as I see fit. Payment still in full
.

Delreggio’s, 11:00 P.M., Saturday April 27th. Leave him there alone. Money will be waiting
.

The first envelope also contained a wad of cash. I counted it. Five grand.

I was able to count it because I was so angry that I couldn’t even
feel
the anger. Like my emotional fuse box had blown in an effort to protect itself. Samedi said the Ratcatcher caught people.

He’d been hired to catch us.

Lifting my eyes to Bai, I said, “Everything.”

“I don’t know everything. I’m apprenticed to Belinda. She’s the Ratcatcher’s wife.” She turned again. “Couple months back, she started working with these guys. Dressed all in black. First
they hid their faces with scarves, then with bird masks. Lot of weird folks in the underworld, so no questions asked—they paid for untraceable carriages, and that’s what she gave them. Brought in a few of their own to be chopped.”

“But then someone wanted to hire the Ratcatcher?”

“Right. And once he got back from the contact … I’ve never seen him like that before. He did
not
want the job. Didn’t know who it was for when he accepted the cash.”

“So that’s why he shut down on Samedi. Wouldn’t talk to me.”

“You’re good.” She grinned a bit. “And can I just say it’s
so
awesome that you work with the Undertaker? I had his wanted poster above my bed till Junebug stole it, the little tramp—”

“Later.” I had to know. “Did he say why he wanted us? What he wanted to do?”

Bai took a second before responding. “Kill you. The girl was going to watch.”

I’d figured as much, but I had to hear her say it. Trying to ride my numbness out to the end, I asked, “Anything else?”

“No. If you want to know who’s behind it, we d—”

“I do.” It had to be. It made sense. The masks, the warnings, the carriages. This wasn’t the Changed. I’d been barking up the wrong tree.

This was
Michael
. Vespertine had told the truth.

“Good. Because the Ratcatcher’s on his way out of town.” She reached into her jacket again and produced another envelope. “That’s for the Undertaker.”

“Out of town?”

“If word gets out that he took an assignment and didn’t follow through, his reputation will be ruined. Someone might even try to take him out. He’s going to lie low for a while.” She flashed me a purposeful look. “That’s how much he loves the Undertaker. And me. Samedi saved my uncle’s life. It was a firefight, the
Undertaker killed for Uncle Ronnie … so he needs anything from me, I’m his to command, too.”

Sam didn’t want anything to do with them anymore, but they were loyal to a fault. Had to give them that. “Got it.”

“Belinda said she’d help you go after the masks, but not yet.” She slowed. “That’s it. Where do you want me to let you off?”

“Actually, if you could drive me to the posh side of town, I’d be obliged.” My phone rang—the special ring that told me it was Nora calling. The only one I couldn’t ignore.

“Can do. Mostly ’cause it sounds like somebody’s going to get his head caved in. Wouldn’t like to stand in the way of that.”

I opened the phone, managing a gruff, “Yeah?”

“Bram!” It was Dr. Dearly, not Nora. He sounded as if he were crying, or attempting to yell through water. “He took Nora! He took her!”

“Wait, what?” I must have sounded suddenly panicked, for Bai looked at me in alarm. “Who took her?”

“Coalhouse,” he said, his voice failing. “He took Patient One, too.”

For a few long seconds I actually couldn’t understand what I’d just heard. It was as if the words that had just been spoken were noises without symbolism. Gibberish uttered by a fever victim. Random finger-tappings on a table.

When my brain finally constructed meaning out of them, my hand tightened so fiercely my phone’s casing cracked.

“Do you know where?” The voice I heard was not my own. It was a level far above death-rattle-scary-zombie, a level far above growling or snarling. It was thunderous and vengeful, and it almost frightened
me
.

“The authorities are giving chase. I don’t know. I don’t know! He had a gun at her head! He had a gun, and …”

I heard crackling, and then Salvez’s voice was on the line. “In
her phone, she had that she was going to meet a Michael Allister at a place called Kintzing’s. He told her to come alone. But nothing about Coalhouse. I still can’t understand it, I still keep thinking it didn’t happen …” The phone crackled again, and Salvez disappeared.

Confusion only whipped me up into even more of a frenzy. I hit the ceiling of Bai’s carriage, and she asked, “What happened?”

“Friend of mine has lost his damn mind! He’s taken my girl and … someone else.” I must have been something to behold, because Bai nearly shrank into her own shoulders as I talked, looking at me like a scrawny kid might look at the local playground bully had the bully laced his cereal with creatine and meth that day.

“What are you going to do?” she whispered. “Go after him?”

“God knows where he’s headed, that’s the problem! The only …”

No
. Coalhouse wouldn’t do something like that.

Would he?

“Let me out here,” I told Bai.

She pulled over, and I dropped down. “You need us for anything? I don’t have much clout, but I can try.”

“I can’t use the living. I’ll have Sam contact Belinda if I need you.”

The girl nodded. I shut the door and she zoomed off. “Salvez!” I shouted into the phone.

“Yes?” he answered, coming back. “Sorry, just trying to—”

“Listen to me. Coalhouse is obsessed with the Changed, and they’ve talked about wanting both P One and Nora.” The words were hard in my throat; it almost hurt to say them. “I hate to even think it, but we have to assume he might head back there.
Might
. Maybe he’s got some scheme in mind. He was lurking around the
Erika
the other night.”

“Sweet, merciful Science.”

“I need you to call me if the people following Coalhouse lose him. Put Dearly on the line.”

At first I wasn’t sure if he had heard me, but then Dr. Dearly’s voice met my ear. “Bram?”

“Listen to me, sir. I need you to pull as many strings as you can. You know that group of zombies in Honduras we told you about? The ones that might’ve been involved in the road attack?”

“Yes.”

“I need their location, and I need the army
away
from them, if possible. We need every minute we can get. Call Lopez, have him help you. I’ll send you his number.”

“But—”

“The army’s already been up there, arrested people. If the army thinks there’s even the possibility that P One is there, they’ll go in hot. There are innocents in that group!” I said it. “Coalhouse has been determined to get them. He’s gone back to the camp at least once. If for some reason he’s headed up there now, they’re going to gun for him. Nora could be hurt. Do you trust me?”

There was a pause before Dearly said softly, “I trust you.”

“I swear, I will get her back to you.” I hung up, and pulled out Ren’s digidiary, bringing up the map.

The authorities were on Nora, and far ahead of me. I had no idea where the Changed were, and I needed time to assemble what few troops I had. I hated idling, but I told myself it was to emerge better prepared.

Meanwhile, I now knew precisely where Michael was.

Kintzing’s was an upscale dining establishment in a good part of town.

Upon entering, I slammed the gold-edged glass doors apart so hard that one of them cracked.

The maître d’ ducked behind his little lighted podium. Through two open, garlanded archways to either side I could see well-heeled diners scrambling away from the foyer, while others looked at them as if they’d lost their minds. I showed the maître d’ my weaponless hands and growled, “Allister. Waiting on another diner.
Where is he
.”

The maître d’ squeaked out something about “our best table” and pointed to another set of closed wooden doors. Without waiting, I strode in that direction and kicked them open. They banged against the walls of the next room, letting out a sound like a cannon and causing several varnished paintings to tremble. There was only one table inside, and Michael was seated at it.

“The devil?” he said, standing up, expression hovering somewhere between disgust and mortal fear.

“You got him,” I said as I closed the distance between us. “We need to talk.”

“What is the meaning of this?” He stood his ground. “I told her to come alone. You filthy thing, setting foot in a good establishment!”

“Again, you mean?” Finishing the work I’d started back on the airship in December, I decked him. Upward. He flew back and slammed into the wall, but remained conscious. Sinking to his feet with a moan, he cupped his hands around his nose, blood dripping onto his ivory cravat.

I got down into his face. “I know you meant to kill me tonight.” His eyes went wide. “You’re coming with me. You got any weapons, you better drop them now. Or they’re going into my personal collection, and you won’t like what I do with them. And give me your phone.”

Michael weighed his odds and rose to his feet. He reached into his jacket and produced a pistol, which he dropped on the floor. He did the same with a knife from inside his waistcoat. After finding and handing me his black cell, he turned around and marched
forward at an even pace, clearly attempting to hold on to some of his nobility.

“What is going on?” Several employees had gathered in the foyer, including a tuxedoed gent I took to be the owner. “Have you called the police? You can’t just let ruffians come in and disturb the customers. Especially the dead! You can’t just let …”

I met his eyes as I walked in, wordlessly challenging him to continue.

He didn’t. “Never mind.”

“Call the cops on me. Go ahead,” I told him as I removed the cash paid for me from my pants pocket and slapped a few bills on the podium. “That’s for your door.”

After the glass doors closed behind us, Michael stopped and said, voice infuriatingly pompous, “Let’s at least do this in my carriage. I’m not about to argue with a subhuman creature out on the street.”

“Sounds grand,” I said. “I’m incredibly honored.”

He led the way to an enameled blue carriage in the covered parking lot, opened the door, and insisted I enter before he did. We sat opposite each other. The carriage was a fancy little number, with a hand-painted carpet and leather seats. Warily, he called out, “Worth! Open the partition!”

The embroidered partition didn’t move. “You sure about that?” I said as I shut the door, then lowered the interior blinds. It was dark outside, but I wasn’t a fool.

“I want my driver to watch us,” he said. “He has a gun. Worth!”

Slowly, the partition slid down. Tom and Chas turned around in the driver’s section, the first waving, the second blowing a kiss. Tom had taken Worth’s little cap. I had no idea where they’d stashed the driver. I didn’t really care.

Michael’s eyes shot back to me. “What did you do?”

“Worth, drive,” I said.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Tom said. Activating the carriage, he pulled out of the parking lot. Michael was knocked against the side of the cab as Tom turned onto the street, and he reached out to grip one of the handles mounted along the interior.

“I won’t string you along, because we have precious little time.” I pulled the letters from my jacket pocket and tossed them in his lap.

Michael blinked, though no immediate emotion entered his eyes. It was like his brain spontaneously stopped controlling his face. “I have no idea what those are.”

“Yes you do.” I leaned even closer, close enough to strike out and bite him if I wanted to. He squeezed himself back against his seat, even as he lifted his chest, attempting to look as if he wasn’t afraid. “But I don’t care what you meant to do to me. Why did you invite Nora here?”

“That’s none of your concern, abomination.” He was starting to sound scared.

Quick as a switchblade, I reached out, grabbed his nose and shifted it back and forth, letting him hear the crunching of his own cartilage. He screamed. But he didn’t talk.

“What did you
do
?” I snarled, releasing his nose. “Why was Nora coming here? Why did you tell the Ratcatcher not to bring her?”

“You’re not worth the air it would take to form the words,” he coughed out. “Miss Dearly was coming here to talk. I was going to give her a choice.”

I jabbed him in the nose again, more carefully, with two knuckles—like an acupuncturist piercing just the right area. This time I got him to sob. “About what? The whole thing!”

Michael remained defiant. He didn’t open his mouth—only glared at me as if he wished he could burn me to ash where I sat. His silence infuriated me more than any insult could. Everything started to weigh on me—Nora being taken, not having an immediate
plan, how fast we were racing through the city. Tom swerved sharply to the left, and Michael rocked in his seat. I didn’t. I was rigid with rage.

So calmly that it almost disturbed me, I grabbed him by the chin, like a parent might a mouthy child, and rolled his head back, forcing him to look up at me. My voice curled up on itself, condensing and becoming more powerful. In my bones, I knew I had no right to terrorize the living. Faced with Michael’s stubborn face, that ideal went out the window.