Red Queen (37 page)

“Whip,” I said. “Out in the desert, did anyone from Las Vegas besides Frankie visit you?”

No.

“Did you always live in the desert city?”

No.

“Did you used to live here?”

Whip lowered his head. His eyes appeared to dampen.

I used to live near here, in a house,
he wrote.

“Do you know the name of the town you lived in?”

Henderson.

I turned to Jimmy. “How far is Henderson from here?”

“Twenty minutes on the freeway.”

“Kari said that Huck was only twenty minutes away,” I said.

Jimmy was suddenly interested. “Should we take Whip for a drive around that area?” he asked.

“My thoughts exactly,” I said, turning back to Whip. “How long have you lived in the desert?” I asked.

Seventeen months, three days,
Whip wrote.

“Did you live with your mother before then?”

Whip hesitated.
Sometimes. When she wasn't busy.

“Did she leave you with a babysitter when she was busy?”

With different people. They were mean.

“Do you know why she sent you out to the desert?”

Whip answered quickly, perhaps too quickly.
No.

“Did you do something that angered her?”

No.

“Are you sure?”

No. Yes.
Whip wiped at his eyes.
I don't want to talk about her.

I patted his back. “I'm sorry. Tell me about the people you live with in the desert. Do you have any special friends?”

Clair and Bill,
he wrote.

“Are they kids like you?”

They are like you and Jimmy but not as pretty.

“Why do you say they're not pretty?” I asked.

They have things growing on their body. Like really big warts. They keep growing.

“Does Frankie bring them food as well?”

I share some of my food with them. But they mainly eat from the food that's dropped.

“What do you mean dropped?”

A helicopter drops bags of food.

“How often?”

Every few weeks.

“Are you the only one who's brought special food?”

Yes.

“Maybe his mother does care for him,” my father observed.

I shook my head, not wanting to express my true feelings for Susan in front of the boy. “Whip,” I asked. “This is going to be a strange question but I want you to think real hard before answering it. Okay?”

I always think hard.

“Do you have any memories of living in another world?”

Whip didn't write. He just stared at me. He nodded.

“What do you remember about this place?”

He wrote reluctantly.
Bad people live there.

“The Lapras?”

Yes.

“Do you feel different when you remember that place?”

I feel bad.

“You don't like it?”

No. I'm bad there. I kill people.

“How do you kill people?” I asked.

Whip set down his marking pen and held up his tail.

At first our trip to Henderson seemed a waste. We drove all over town without spotting an area that was the least bit familiar to Whip. But then I thought of Kari's description of the house where the Lapras were keeping Huck. How nice it was, how fine the view was. It struck me then that the house was probably located outside the city.

Indeed, chances were they were keeping Lara nearby. It made sense. That way they could concentrate their security. I directed Jimmy to head for the rich gated communities to the north of the town, where there were wide open spaces, and bluffs from which one could see for miles.

“Did it occur to you that we could be driving into the lion's den?” Jimmy asked.

“I just need a rough idea of the area,” I said, before speaking to Whip in the backseat of a new rental, a Mercedes sedan. I had returned the Ford Expedition for obvious reasons. The
Lapras would spot it in a minute. “Whip, keep looking out the windows,” I told him. “Let us know if anything looks familiar.”

He nodded. He seemed to enjoy helping us.

Ten minutes later he tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a hill that was topped with a sharp rock formation. The shape of the summit was curious. It looked like a crown. The hill appeared to be two miles away but it was possible it was twice that distance, given the curious effect the open desert often had on our eyes. I told Jimmy to pull over and lower our windows.

“You've seen that hill before?” I asked Whip.

He nodded and reached for his notepad, handing it to me a moment later.
It was in our backyard,
he wrote.

I smiled. “That's perfect. Good job, Whip.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak.

A faint gasp came out, followed by a dry cough.

But he was trying—he was trying to talk to us.

ON THE ROAD BACK TO
Las Vegas, I asked jimmy if I could have some time alone. I explained how I owed Alex an explanation, and I couldn't put it off any longer. He was fine with that. He said he would give my father a break and take care of Whip for a while.

“As long as you promise you're not going to do anything dangerous while you're gone,” he said.

He knew me too well. I smiled and gave him a kiss.

“Trust me, I've never had more reason to stay alive in my life,” I said.

“Lara?”

“Yes. And you, always you,” I said.

He seemed touched. “I like the ‘always' part.”

“That's possible now. We are witches. Eventually you're going to get your genes turned on. And even if you don't have
the healing one, I'm going to do everything in my power to keep your parts in excellent working condition.”

“I bet you focus on one part in particular.”

I stroked his leg. “You're a mind reader.”

He kissed me harder, neither of us caring that Whip was watching. Yet, when we parted, Jimmy looked sad.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“I should never have left you.”

“You did what you had to do. You were trying to do the right thing.”

“I was a fool to get her pregnant in the first place.”

“You'll get no argument from me on that point.”

Jimmy opened the door and climbed out of the car, taking Whip with him. “Be careful you're not followed,” he warned.

“It's becoming second nature. Bye, Jimmy. Bye, Whip. Love ya both.”

Whip pressed his right palm to his heart and then pointed the fingers at me. I couldn't be sure but I thought he was trying to tell me he loved me. Right then, I couldn't think of two guys in the whole world that I cared for more. It was weird, I had just met Whip.

Yet, driving toward the MGM, and Alex, thoughts of Russ returned to haunt me. There was no denying the fact that I'd had a crush on Russ, and that did not mean I loved Jimmy any less. I believed Russ's feelings for me went equally deep. His willingness to accompany me to meet the Lapras
had been so brave. He had done it for Lara and me. Remembering his anxiety when we were waiting for Frank outside the Mirage, I realized he must have known the danger he was about to face. But who could've guessed that I would be the one to kill him?

Of course, Susan had murdered him. My hatred for her was like a living thing that kept growing inside. I knew I was not going to rest until she was dead.

I was about to park at the MGM when I recalled the sound of woe I had heard underground just before the redhead with the Taser had picked me up. In reality the sound had never left me. During idle moments, I had watched my mind constantly turning back to it. There was a reason the cry drew me, but I didn't know what it was.

Nor did I know the name of the street where I had heard the sound. I had only a vague idea which direction the cab driver had taken me. But I suspected if I drove around for a while, I might spot something familiar. It had definitely been an industrial area.

Plus I was in no hurry to confront Alex.

I had no idea what I was going to say to her.

The afternoon was wearing on as I headed away from the Strip, relying on intuition more than memory. I stopped in a pawnshop when I got in the area but the owner was no help. I drove in circles. My intuitive gene was working at best at 10 percent capacity, and although I appeared to find the area where I
had leaped from the taxi, I could not find the exact street.

Until I decided to give up and turned back toward the hotel and I ran into the right block. Then I understood. Only when I stopped trying did my intuition work.

Once again the area appeared deserted. None of the factories were working and the local warehouses appeared empty. The place had a witch-world feel to it. The area seemed dead.

I parked beside the sewer cover from where the oppressive wail had seemed to originate. The covering plate was made of steel and the hot sun had heated it to the point where it stung my fingers to touch it. Fortunately, while searching the trunk of my new rental, I was lucky to find a toolbox equipped with a large screwdriver and rubber-coated flashlight. Both tools were essential if I was to climb down the manhole.

And I was going down. The painful moan had not ceased. It sounded as if there were a thousand souls trapped beneath my feet.

The sewer lid popped free with the help of the screwdriver. But the rungs leading into the ground appeared to be a much more difficult proposition. For one thing they looked like they had not been used since the sewer had been created. They were coated in a heavy layer of dust, and they were awfully short.

Because the sewer was in the center of the street, I felt a responsibility to replace the covering over my head in case another car swung by and got stuck with a wheel in the hole.
But I had to wonder how I could manage that while holding on to the flashlight.

Then I thought of how all the cool spies on TV carried their flashlights in their mouths when they were going into danger, so they could keep their fingers on the triggers of their Glocks. Not that I had a gun but the point was my mouth was big enough to accommodate the light.

Turning the flashlight on and sticking the back tip in my mouth, I scooted to the edge of the sewer, rolled over, stuck out a foot, and prayed I'd be able to find the third or fourth rung. The truth was, once I had my feet and hands on the rungs, I felt pretty secure. The sewer cap was still pretty hot but I grabbed it quickly and gave it a few yanks until it settled overhead.

I started down, keeping both hands on the rungs, breathing around the flashlight. I was glad for the rubber coating. I assumed it would keep my saliva from seeping into the casing and shorting out the batteries.
What a way to go,
I thought. If my tongue got electrocuted, I wouldn't even be able to scream as I fell.

The narrow shaft was deep. I went down a long way before I reached the bottom, which turned out to be a concrete sewer more than eight feet high. It was not circular, as I expected, but more rectangular in shape, its width greater than its generous height. The air was damper than the desert above but the floor of the sewer was bone-dry.

It made me wonder if the underground aqueduct system
only came to life if the city was hit with a storm. From living in Apple Valley, I knew such storms were rare but they could be intense. I recalled how Las Vegas had looked when we had driven in on the freeway. It had seemed as if the city had been built in a relatively depressed area, compared to rows of distant hills. If there were a flash flood, the sewer I was standing in might fill to the ceiling. The fact that there was no dust on the floor or the walls led me to believe this was likely.

But what about the people who were supposed to live down here? It was weird but it was only when I had finished my descent and was inspecting my immediate surroundings that I realized the moaning sound had stopped. Yet I had been sure it was coming from beneath me. It should have been ten times louder.

“Maybe they heard me coming,” I whispered aloud, wanting to hear my voice, any sound. The wail might have departed but the creepy vibes had not. I didn't need to be a witch to sense that there was something strange about this sewer. I couldn't see anything, I couldn't hear anything, but I knew I wasn't entirely alone.

Yet I wasn't sure what was watching me.

Something old, perhaps. Something sad.

I wanted to call out. My gut told me that would be a mistake. Indeed my common sense was screaming at me to get out of there immediately. But I had come for a reason, even if I wasn't sure what it was anymore.

I realized how easy it would be to get lost in such a labyrinth. For that reason, before leaving the shaft that had taken me down to this sewer, I etched a clear mark on the wall with my screwdriver. I planned to make a series of such markings if I ended up turning corners.