Geekomancy (36 page)

Tick-tock, Ree,
she thought.
But you can’t just leave him like this.

Ree pulled out her phone and hoped that the little red sliver of battery would hold on awhile longer. She dialed Bryan’s cell. After three rings, he picked up.

“Bryan? It’s Ree. Big shit’s going down. I was just with Aidan, but so was Eastwood. They’re both gone, but I can’t leave Drake. He’s hurt, probably a concussion.”

“Wait, what?” Bryan said.

“Drive now, questions later. Get to Miner Park right now.”

Bryan said, “I’m on my way home. I was going to help look for Aidan.”

“Help by coming and getting my friend. We’re at the pond in the northeast corner of the park. Got it?”

“I don’t know how to handle a concussion, Ree,” Bryan admitted.

“He’s a tough guy, but you need to go to a hospital—he needs someone to go with him, or they’ll think he’s totally jacked or a psych case. I have to follow Eastwood now, Bryan, so get over here ASAP.”

Bryan sputtered, and Ree could imagine him on the other end of the line, scratching his head.

She spoke in the calmest voice she could manage. “I’m going after your son, like you asked, but to do so, I need you to come and handle my friend. There’s no time.”

“Okay, I’m on my way,” Bryan said.

“Great. Now I get to do more impossible things. Wish me luck.”

“Good—”

Ree hung up the phone before she could hear the end of Bryan’s response. Her phone beeped at her, begging to be charged. She dropped the phone back into her jacket, then grabbed Drake to haul him up against a tree.

She produced a flashlight from Drake’s bag and flicked it in his eyes; both pupils were wide but about equal. She squeezed his hand as she popped some painkillers for herself and stood, wincing when she put weight on her bad leg.

She limped around the clearing, looking for any trace of Aidan or Eastwood. She tried to talk herself up, get her adrenaline racing again: “Bruce Willis time, all right? Go Linda Hamilton on this shit. Think action hero. Come on.”

She left the flashlight on, illuminating Drake, then scanned the tree line and tried to make out shapes in the woods. She heard the crashing of hurried bodies to her left, and turned to see what looked like Eastwood’s trench coat flapping through the distant brush.

“There’s one. But would Aidan go that way?” Ree’s mind raced down her best-guess list of Aidan’s favorite hangouts. Other than the park and the café, she knew he went to the library.
No good, not enough privacy. Maybe the Burger Bin?
She remembered him talking about role-playing there a few times before the owners “kindly” asked him and his friends to find another place to game. And Aidan had a Burger Bin soda cup at least half the times he came to the café.

If I’m wrong, I’m screwed. Better not be wrong, then.

She flailed for hope, dialing Aidan’s number and repeating “Come on, come on” to the phone as she walked to the edge of the park. Ree scanned the street as the phone rang. No answer. But it rang through instead of going straight to voicemail.

The phone was on.

For all that meant.

She could think of as many bad possibilities as good, so she discarded the lot of them and talked to Aidan’s voicemail. Her voice caught in her throat as the pressure fell on her again to say just the right thing. “It’s Ree. Call me back. Your family is worried sick, and so am I. I want to help. Please call me.”

The street held scattered packs of teenage trick-or-treaters; the little kids were all home now that the sun was down and the cold of night was rolling in. Some looked older, likely college kids heading to parties. But no Aidan. No Eastwood.

Ree started down the street, pushing past the wall of pain that slammed into her each time she put weight on her injured leg. She got to the corner and turned left on instinct, deciding without knowing why that she was going to Burger Bin. Chances were she was wrong, but it was a damn sight better than doing nothing, and if she stopped now, she would collapse.

She kept hobbling down the street, promising herself she’d get a stupidly overloaded milkshake if she could make it to the restaurant, Aidan or no. Unless there was a line, which there would be.
Damnit. But he will be there, and there will be a milkshake. Magical thinking will actually work for me this time. There will be a milkshake. Or at least a soda. And Aidan, yes.

Ree had always been ravenous after sparring classes at her Taekwondo studio, and she was finding that real fights left her feeling pretty much the same. Only with more accompanying nausea. Strangely, the nausea and hunger didn’t cancel each other out; they just kind of sat there, coexisting and making her feel like she’d be sorry if she didn’t eat and maybe worse if she did.

People passed her on the street, but none of them looked at her twice. People let a lot slide on Halloween, and she’d looked more bedraggled and torn up from drinking in previous years without anyone asking questions.

The irony of a life-and-death soul-bargaining, demon-dealing event going down without so much notice as a police cruiser was not lost on Ree.
If only the real ghouls took the day off, like they did in
Buffy
.

When Ree rounded the corner leading to the Burger Bin, she saw that the line was out the door and most of the way down the sidewalk. Nearly everyone who was in line was also in costume, and Ree realized she must have been so caught up in the case that she’d uncharacteristically missed whatever Halloween promo the chain had put out.

Her phone beeped, and for a desperate second, she hoped it was Aidan calling back, but when she looked down, she realized it was her OMG You Are Running Out of Battery 4 Realz OK? sound instead of the Pavlovian life-validation of the Someone Is Calling You sound.

Ree sneaked around the line, scanning faces and bodies as she made her way through the costumed crowd. She didn’t think Aidan would stop long enough to wait in line, but she was going to be as thorough as she could possibly manage. She passed vampires wearing glitter, bespectacled brunette boys with lightning-bolt makeup, sexy nurses, sexy witches, and sexy firewomen (the last one earned an extra-raised eyebrow and rolled eyes), but no Depressed Teenage Sons of Gamer Café Owners.

She squeezed her way inside to scan the rest of the line as well as the crowded tables and booths.

The restaurant was loud, filled with dozens of conversations between excited kids, harried parents, scenster kids, and overworked Burger Bin employees, who put up an impressive front of professionalism behind their purple hats and aprons.

Ree walked down the narrow side room, peeking into each booth and ignoring the suspicious stares she got in return. She reached the end with no success and turned about-face.

As her vision tracked across the full-length windows and through them to the outside, she saw a familiar mop of hair. She stopped, looked again, and saw Aidan weaving his way through the crowd on the far side of the street.

Thank you, Jeebus,
Ree thought, then pushed her way through the crowd to get toward the one and only door. She said “excuse me” and “sorry” on a constant loop as she went, trying to keep her eyes on Aidan and to look out for Eastwood.

Ree slid between two Power Rangers and broke out of the waiting crowd, her stomach pining for a milkshake or for any kind of food to keep her going.

She checked the traffic and dashed across the street, calling, “Aidan!”

Aidan’s head shot up, startled, and he turned to watch Ree as she sprinted across the street.

Ree slowed to shimmy between two cars parked far closer than was comfortable, and swung around a parking meter to face the younger geek. She wrapped Aidan up in as fierce a hug as she could manage. Her forehead rested against his cheek with a flash of cognitive dissonance as she remembered meeting a four-ten Aidan during her first week of work at the café.

“I’m so glad you’re all right. Let’s get you home, okay? Your family is worried sick.”

Aidan pulled away from Ree, but she held tight.

“Sorry,
mi amigo,
” Ree continued in her terribly accented Spanish, “no can do.”

Aidan chuckled despite himself. “You suck.”

Ree squeezed Aidan. “No,” she said, then continued in horrible Spanish, saying, ”I am your friend, and you will always appreciate my terrible humor.”

They were the quiet island in a river of motion as a crowd of people flowed by, coming up from a subway station.

“Ready to go home?” Ree asked.

“Only if you sneak me some whiskey.”

“Just steal some of your dad’s. He already knows you do it. And I think he’ll understand.”

Aidan laughed grudgingly. “Okay.”

Ree exhaled fifty pounds of worry.
Hey, Mom. I did it.

But what will Eastwood do now?

Chapter Twenty

Freytag’s Shotgun

At the Blin house, there were no monsters. Nor were there any crazed bereaved geeky antiquarians. There were just two tremendously relieved parents and a pair of four-year-old twins who were entirely confused as to why everyone was so worried and why no one had chased them back to bed.

The living room told the story of a boy who never quite left Neverland. He had, however, gotten organized with some help. The long dinner table spent a great deal of time serving as the play surface for role-playing adventures, miniatures battles, and board-game nights, but it spent even more time with tablecloths stained by cereal, pizza sauce, and whatever else the twins consumed with all of the gusto of preschool Wookiees.

The wall was as filled with bookshelves as it could have been without folding space, and Ree still wondered on occasion if Bryan’s wife hadn’t figured out some way to fit paperbacks inside of hardcovers when arranging the library.

The kitchen was Amy’s domain, everything expertly arranged down to the enviable hanging organizer, which held pans, spatulas, and dozens of other tools. Bryan’s business was struggling, but Amy’s company was chugging along fine, selling supplies to the endless tide of restaurants that flowed through Pearson.

Amy and Bryan were wrapped around their oldest son, both crying. Aidan was a standing lump held up by his parents. On the way home, Ree nearly had to drag the heartbroken boy, but she was pretty sure the danger had passed.

When they arrived, Bryan had told her that Drake had woken up on the way to the hospital and hadn’t wanted to go. Bryan had forced him to check in, with strict orders to stay put and avoid violent movement.

So it’s just me,
Ree thought as she sat with the twins. The kids played halfheartedly, watching their parents and brother.

“Is that a LEGO X-wing?” Ree asked Luke, who sat on her left.

He nodded, and Leia picked up the LEGO Han and Chewie, doing her best Wookiee voice.

Ree was impressed.
That’s better than mine.
She breathed deeply, trying to bleed off the tension, pain, and general angst of her last weeks before she dashed back out into the night to find Eastwood and keep him from getting himself killed.

Why should I even bother?
asked a voice in her head.

She was taken aback at the thought.
He’s grief-crazy. He needs
more
friends, not fewer.
In the time she’d spent with him, she’d seen him with plenty of acquaintances and associates but no friends. Not even Grognard or Dr. Wells.

But how?
He could be back at the Dorkcave, or he could be between two statues on top of an apartment building.
Where did one go to summon a Dork Lord of Hell?

Ree looked up from the LEGOs, where Luke and Leia were making Wookiee and spaceship sounds to the Blins’ wall of media.

She ran through her mental media Rolodex to try to figure out if she could emulate something that would help her find Eastwood.

She could read a book from
Changeling: The Dreaming,
the Eshu kithbook, and try to copy their ability to be in the right place at the right time, but she’d never tried genre emulation off of a book, and a role-playing book at that.
Does the magic require a narrative, or just the concept?

Too risky. Try that sometime when there aren’t lives on the line.

Star Wars
could give her a clairvoyant Hail Mary, and a Marauder’s Map could tell her where Eastwood was, but for that, she’d need a prop. A replica might not even work. She scanned the DVD racks:
LOST, Indiana Jones, Monty Python, Angel, Buffy, Babylon 5, Star Trek,
and nothing came to mind. She checked her watch, glad that she kept wearing one as a fashion piece even though her smartphone told the time.

10:17. That didn’t leave much time for any kind of media power-up.