From Black Rooms (36 page)

grimace. As Amalfia's lips moved in time with the music, Evan's cruelty faded from her features.

"That's it, Amanda!" Natalie got to the end of the alphabet and started over. "A-B-C-D...

Amalfia's singing became audible, thin and halting, but becoming stronger with each refrain. "W, X, Y, and
Z."

She let go of Cal ie, who added her hoarse voice to the chorus. "Now I know my ABC's! Won't you sing along
with me?"

More tears coursed down Amalfia's cheeks, but these were joyful ones. Natalie put the gun away.

The four of them continued to belt out the Alphabet Song, with ever greater gusto, al the way back to Las Cruces.

33

Late Arrival

IN RETROSPECT, JASE BEDLOW SHOULD HAVE

KNOWN THERE WAS something wrong about a

sixty-some-year-old guy in a business suit wearing dark glasses at three in the morning. He just assumed the dude had snorted some coke to keep awake on the

highway and didn't want everyone to see his pupils dilated as big as quarters. If Jase had realized what a hassle the whole thing would turn out to be, he

would've told the freak "Sorry, no vacancy," even though the place was practical y empty.

Usual y, manning the front desk at the Cactus Catnap Lodge was a kick-back job. Located in the no-man'sland along I-10 between Blythe and Indio, the low-rent motel didn't see much business in the middle of the day, much less the middle of the night. That's why Jase took the graveyard shift: he got paid to study for his classes at UC Riverside (he'd switched majors five times in twelve years) or to watch DVDs and play

games on the motel's computer. He didn't have to do squat except check in the occasional guest, which took about five minutes.

Except for the dude with the shades, damn him.

The guy did not look like he normal y stayed in flea traps like the Cactus Catnap. For starters, he rol ed into the motel's breezeway in a gold Beemer. Yet he didn't seem to have any luggage other than a leather briefcase that he wrapped his arms around as if it was his

firstborn son or something. Jase began to think maybe the dude didn't just take drugs--he might actual y be a dealer.

"I need a single for the night," the guy said, sponging sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief.

Jase gave a lopsided grin. "Night's almost over. And we charge for another night if you stay past noon."

"Fine, whatever. Just hurry it up."

With sluggard slowness, Jase drew a registration form from a notch in the desk and started to fil it out.

"What's the name?"

"Carleton Amis."

The dude handed him a driver's license and a platinum Visa. Definitely a dealer, Jase decided. "Las Cruces, huh?" he asked, transcribing the address on the license.

"You've come quite a ways. How long you been on the road?"

"Two days." The length of time seemed to have great significance for him, and he repeated it. "Almost exactly two days."

"Where you headed?"

"Orange County. I've got business with some people in Ful erton." Amis swiveled his head as if someone had come up behind him. "You have a lot of guests tonight?"

"Hardly any. Why?"

The dude cocked his ear, listening. "I heard voices...
I'll bet you did, Jase thought. "Let me run this card.
Back in a sec."

He stepped into the tiny office behind the front desk and swiped the Visa through the credit-card reader. While waiting for the receipt to print, he surveyed the pegboard where the lodge hung the keys of the

available rooms. "You want smoking or non?" Amis didn't answer.

Jase raised his voice. "I said, you want smoking or non?"

The only response was a strangled rasp, fol owed by a thump and a clatter.

"Mister?" Jase glanced back through the office door, but the dude had disappeared. The clerk returned to peer over the front desk and final y saw the source of that hissing, gurgling sound he heard. "Holy crap." The dude in the business suit flailed and gibbered on the floor as if a horde of maggots were gestating in his chest. He hacked, trying to cry out, but al that spewed from his mouth was a froth of churned saliva.

"Aw, hel !" Jase muttered. "Why'd you have to O.D. on my shift?"

Panicking for his job security, he snatched up the phone receiver and punched in nine-one-one. Before the cal could connect, however, Amis ceased wriggling and lay heaped there like a beached jel yfish. That was when Jase noticed that the guy's convulsions had knocked his sunglasses askew, revealing blank eyes blooming with a deep violet color.

"J
esus," the clerk exclaimed, as the perplexed
emergency operator peppered his ear with questions. It would have been impossible to determine from Carl Pancrit's expression whether, in his first moments as a Violet, he gained the insight into the afterworld for which he'd yearned. Thousands of souls poured into him through the Ash Field dust specks that had settled in his lungs, but if they final y whispered to him the secrets he so longed to share, the knowledge did not appear to please him. And it was unlikely that anyone would ever summon him to learn his final revelation.
34

The Forgotten Adversary

RETURNED TO CALIFORNIA like veterans

retreating from the front--no banners, no parades, only battle fatigue and shel shock.

They had any number of reminders of what they'd lost in the fight. Serena had not regained consciousness when they'd last seen her at the hospital in Las Cruces, and although the doctors predicted that she would eventual y recover, she needed a titanium bal joint to replace her shattered shoulder. Amanda had gone back to her parents, who were so flummoxed by her inability to handle her new gift that they were already

contemplating sending her to the School for Violet training. Natalie had had to ask Hector Espinoza to wire her traveling money since al their luggage had gone up in flames at the hotel in Boston, and she, Calvin, and Cal ie had to take a taxi back from the airport because when they got to the parking garage at LAX, they

realized that only Wade had had keys for the Camry. Wade Lindstrom's charred remains stil lay in a drawer at a morgue in Boston, pending delivery to the cemetery of his daughter's choice. Natalie didn't know if he wanted to be buried with her mother in Pasadena or with Sheila in New Hampshire, and she hadn't had

either the time or the heart to summon him to ask his wishes.

Il omens at home told her that the war was not over. Yel ow POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS ribbons

zigzagged over the front door and Sanjay Prashad

leaned against his Mitsubishi at the curb, looking far too pleased with himself. He grinned at them as they got out of the cab.

"I do not think that you wil want to go in there," he said, indicating the condo. "The stains on the carpet--it would be most unpleasant for the child...particularly given her unique attributes."

Calvin paled. "Oh, God...Tranquil ity." With gathering gloom, Natalie looked at the haven she'd created for herself and her child. It was the kind of cookie-cutter construction she hated, but she'd bought it because it was new, with no taint of death, and over the past decade it had become the citadel that defended them against enemies of both this world and the next. She wanted nothing more than to hole up behind its wal s right now, raise the drawbridge, and lower the portcul is. How could it be that they would never set foot inside it again?

"The authorities are most anxious to speak with Mr. Criswel regarding Ms. Moon's death," Prashad continued, his smile like an ivory scythe. "I must confess that I had to inform them that I witnessed a very bitter argument between the two of them shortly before her murder."

"Calvin had nothing to do with that, and you know it," Natalie seethed.

"Oh, I have little doubt of Mr. Criswel 's innocence. Of course, with his past criminal record, and the fact that many people saw him leave the hotel room in Boston where your father was stabbed to death...wel , a jury may not agree with me."

His audacity smothered her, left her clamoring for words strong enough to denounce him.

Pushing ahead of her mother, Cal ie spoke up instead.

"Calvin didn't kil Grandpa Wade. It was the bad man. Evan."

The Corps Security agent beamed at the child's

precocity. "I am certain you are correct, young lady. And that is why I am prepared to use al the influence of the N-double-A-C-C on Mr. Criswel 's behalf."
Uh-oh. Here it comes, Natalie thought. "What do you
want?" she asked Prashad, although she already knew. He pressed his palms together. "Due to recent setbacks in our research-and-development program, the Corps wil not have as many conduits at its disposal as it had planned. Any influx of new members to make up this deficit would be most appreciated."

"Leave Natalie out of this," Calvin said. "I'm the one in trouble. I'l go to work for the Corps. I can do that now. See?" He opened his eyes wide so Prashad could admire his new violet irises.

"While the Corps would be most grateful for your services, Mr. Criswel , I am afraid that they alone wil not be sufficient to secure your freedom."

Prashad awaited a counteroffer from Natalie. She stared at him, unwil ing to accept that, after al they had survived, this unctuous little bureaucrat would prove their undoing. It was like being checkmated by a pawn, trumped by a deuce.

She clasped Calvin's hand in hers. "I'l go back to the Corps."

The agent bowed his head with noblesse oblige, but he had not finished pressing his advantage. "Again, your renewed membership wil be most welcome. But there is a significant monetary incentive contingent upon your daughter's enrol ment in the Conduit Academy."
Not Callie, Natalie thought. Not the School...I'll do
anything but that.

"Forget it, Pee Wee." Calvin presented his wrists. "Slap the cuffs on. I can so do prison."

"No," Cal ie said. "I'l go." The answer took al three adults by surprise. Even Prashad did not seem to expect Cal ie's cooperation. Natalie crouched beside her. "Honey, you don't have to do this."

"Mom, he saved our lives." Her eyes shone with the same worrisome excitement Natalie had seen in them while Cal ie thumbed through the School brochure on the plane. "Besides, I want to go."

Calvin shook his head. "I can't let you do this. Either of you."

Cal ie lifted her chin with an obstinacy that made Natalie think of herself at that age. "I'm going to the School no matter what you do, so if you go to jail, you'l only make my mom miserable."

Calvin's gaze dropped to the toes of his shoes. He stil wore the oversize sneakers that Serena had procured for him in Boston.

Natalie grasped her daughter's shoulders. "Please, baby girl. For my sake, don't do this."

"As gratifying as I find the child's enthusiasm, it is not real y her decision," Prashad broke in. "In the unfortunate event that the authorities discover Mr. Criswel is guilty of murder, I am sure that they wil also conclude that you have endangered your daughter by exposing her to such a violent individual. Natural y, Child Protective Services wil have to obtain custody of the girl for her own safety."

He paused to permit Natalie to realize that she had no hope. Whether she cooperated or not, she would stil lose Cal ie to the Corps.

"I recommend that you encourage your girl's admirable ambition to serve her country in the N-double-A-C-C," Prashad advised. "At least then you wil retain the right to see her at the Academy during prescribed visitation opportunities."

Natalie couldn't speak. How had her existence fal en to pieces in less than five minutes?

Cal ie put her arms around her mother's neck, the child comforting the parent. "I'l be fine, Mom. Just like you."

"I hope so, honey," Natalie whispered. "I hope I'm fine. I hope we'l al be."

As they hugged, she peered over the shoulder of her growing girl at the home they had been denied. The sight of the condo wavered as her eyes turned watery, but Natalie knew the regret would not last. They would always have a home, she, Cal ie, and Calvin, wherever they were, as long as they had one another.

Acknowledgments

I relied on many information sources in the writing of this novel and owe a particular debt of gratitude to The
Rescue Artist by Edward Dolnick for inspiration.
I would also like to thank the fol owing individuals for their unflagging support, patience, and assistance: my steadfast editor Anne Lesley Groel and the whole crew at Bantam Del ; my previous agent, Jimmy Vines; my present agent, Danny Baror; my family and friends; and, ever and always, my beloved wife and col eague, Kel y Dunn.

About the Author

A graduate of the prestigious Clarion West Writers Workshop and a first-place winner in the Writers of the Future Contest, Stephen Woodworth is the author of
Through Violet Eyes, With Red Hands, and In Golden
Blood, the three previous novels in the Violet series.
His short fiction has appeared in such publications as
The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Weird
Tales, Aboriginal Science Fiction, and Strange
Horizons. He lives in California with his wife and
fel ow writer, Kel y Dunn.

ALSO BY STEPHEN WOODWORTH

Through Violet Eyes

In Golden Blood

With Red Hands

In the book that started it all, Natalie Lindstrom
investigates the case of the

Violet Killer--the psychopath who is ritually

murdering all of her friends at the NAACC.

Through Violet Eyes

UNTIL after noon. By that time, Dan was starving and Natalie looked like hel .

They'd taken a night flight back from New Hampshire and hadn't reached their hotel until almost one A.M. Dan managed to catch a few winks on the plane, but he knew that Natalie had quivered with fear, wide-awake, for the entire trip. SAC Clark, of course, insisted that they meet him at LAPD headquarters at seven sharp, and they spent the entire morning reviewing the case. Dan's complimentary continental breakfast had