Wild Ride (22 page)

“Maybe,” Ethan said. “So were you watching Ray Brannigan last night?”

She hesitated and then shook her head. “No. My partner and I went back to town when the park closed. What happened?” She waited, and when he didn't say anything, she said, “Right. Information only goes one way. Call me when it's a two-way street,” and walked out the door, which was just as well, Ethan thought. He had things to find out, and she wasn't going anywhere far; there was something in Dreamland she wanted.

Too bad it wasn't him.

“How'd she get down here?” Gus said.

“She followed us.”

“That's no good.”

“So I shot her.”

Gus patted his arm. “That's my boy.”

Yeah, but I can't keep shooting her
. Whether Glenda liked it or not, he was going to find a way to work with Weaver.

As closely as possible.

 

M
ab had just finished the underpainting on the front of the box when Frankie cawed down from the scalloped roof, and she looked up to see Gus heading up the midway toward her.

She stood, wiping her hands on a paint rag, and when he reached her, she said, “Hey, Gus. How are you doing?” because she knew how much he'd cared about Delpha.

“I'm okay.” He held out some pieces of wood to her. “Wonderin' if you could fix this.”

She took one of the pieces and looked at it closely. It was heavily carved but primitive, not like the sophisticated swirls on the Fortune-Telling Machine. “This is really old, Gus.”

“Yeah.” He held out the rest to her.

“Really old,” she said as she took them. “Like . . .”

“Twenty-five hundred years,” he said, and her eyebrows went up.

“That much.” She stooped down to the flagstones and laid the pieces out, rearranging them until they were in the right pattern, constructing a 3-D model in her imagination, the way she'd done with other things a thousand times before—

The pieces rose up under her eyes and fitted themselves together.

“Whoa,” she said, sitting back.

“What?” Gus said.

“Didn't you
see
that?” she said, and then realized that he hadn't. “Never mind.”

She looked more closely at the lid as it hovered before her. It was missing a piece—no, as she crawled around to the other side, she saw it was two very small pieces. “You're missing two little wood pieces. One's kind of a triangle and the other one's more of a square. About a quarter inch across. Get me those and I'll put this back together for you.”

“Okay. I got you this to help,” Gus said, and handed her a wood bowl.

She took it, saying, “Thank you,” confused, but then the illusion of the wood pieces inverted itself and slid into the bowl, and she realized it was a template for fixing the lid. “Thank you, this will be a big help.”

“Two pieces, huh?” Gus said.

“Yeah. Where did you find these pieces?”

“Inside the FunFun statue.”

“Oh.” Mab looked at the pieces in front of her again. “So this is the lid that keeps him trapped in the chalice, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, hurry up and find me those pieces and I'll fix this, and you can put him back.”

“Not without you,” Gus said, and Mab winced. “Delpha knew you'd be called, she knew you were our Seer. We need you.”

She stood and put the pieces in her paint bag, the wood template bowl on top. “Gus, I'm not a fighter. You ever need anybody to fix things, I'll be here for you—” She stopped, startled that she'd said that, but it was true. “The rest of it . . .” She shook her head. “You get me the missing pieces to this, I'll fix it right away.”

His face fell. “Did you take the dove key out of the Tunnel of Love?”

“The dove key? No. I didn't take any dove away. I put one back on the Tunnel before I put the pipes in the carousel FunFun's hand, but I didn't take anything away.”

“Someone took it.” Gus shook his head. “That's no good. When we get Tura back in her chalice, we won't be able to put her back in the mermaid without the key.” He shuffled off, looking glum, and she felt lousy for not promising to help him.

“I'll keep my eyes open for that dove,” she called after him, and he waved without turning around.

“I'd really make a lousy demon hunter,” she said, keeping her voice low that time, but Frankie cawed at her from the top of the booth anyway.

“You stay out of this,” she told him.

Then she went back to work.

 

W
hen Mab finished the underpainting, it was getting dark, but it didn't matter, she knew where the paint went even without the light from her miner's hat; she could probably have seen it without any light at all. The sight Delpha had given her was an incredible gift, priceless, and it had only one big string attached, more of a rope really, she thought, enough rope to tie her to this place forever—

Frankie cawed, a shrill edge to his cry this time, and she looked up to see Ray, stepping off the flagstone of the midway and coming toward her.

“Mary Alice,” Ray said, smiling approvingly at her as he came to stand beside her, the end of his cigar glowing orange in the gloom. “Now that's starting to look like a Fortune-Telling Machine.”

“It's just the underpainting,” she began, but he was peering at the Vanth inside.

“Beautiful. That's a piece of art. Why are you out here so late?”

“Working.”

He shook her head. “You shouldn't be out here alone. Come on, I'll walk you to the Dream Cream.”

He reached for her arm, and Frankie cawed down at him.

“What the hell is that?” Ray took his cigar out of his mouth as he looked up.

“That's my bird,” Mab said. Ray was perfectly capable of pulling out a gun and blowing a raven away, so she wanted to stake her claim.

“Isn't that Delpha's bird?” Ray said, looking suspicious.

“Yes. She left him to me.”

“Left it to you?”

“She died last night. I have to get back to work now—”

“She left you her bird,” Ray said, staring at her. “I didn't know you were close. Did she leave you anything else?”

“Everything,” Mab said, suddenly feeling uneasy. “I
really
have to—”

“She left you her share of the park?” Ray said sharply, moving closer.

“Yes.”

He smiled at her. “Mary Alice, this is your lucky day. I'll give you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for your ten percent of the park.”

Mab blinked at him. A quarter of a million for ten percent of Dreamland? Was he nuts?

“Think of what you could do with that money.”

Mab was way ahead of him. She'd be free. She could invest it and live on the interest and what she made on her paintings. She wouldn't be rich, but she'd be secure—

Frankie cawed above her, and she looked up and saw him staring at her. He swooped down around them and then settled on Mab's shoulder and looked into her eyes.

No.

“Yeah,” she said to Frankie. “I know.” If Ray wanted to pay her a quarter of a million for a tenth of Dreamland, something was very wrong. “No, thank you,” she said to Ray. “I think I'm just going to give it to Glenda.”

“Are you crazy?”

Frankie cawed and flapped his wings as Mab stepped back from the sudden rage in Ray's voice. “No. It's not my park, it's hers.”

“No, it isn't.”
Ray came closer. “Mary Alice, I am looking out for your best interests here. I'm your only living relative.” He hesitated, and then he said, “I've left you everything, you know. In my will. You'll inherit it all. You can trust me.”

“I bet she's heard that before,” Joe said from behind him, and they
both turned to see him standing there, a grocery bag in one hand and two champagne flutes in the other. The stems on the flutes were bony hands holding the flute part of the glass.

“You've been to the Dreamland gift store,” Mab said, still not sure how she felt about him being a lying demon hunter, but delighted that he was there now that Ray was acting weird.

Joe grinned as he came closer. “Dave got me the wine and steaks, but he forgot the glasses and these made me laugh, so . . .” He bent and kissed her.

“Hello,” Ray said, no smile. “I'm Mary Alice's uncle.”

“Good to meet you,” Joe said, no smile either.

Ray stared at Joe for a couple of long seconds while Joe stared back, Ray threatening and Joe with a you've-got-to-be-kidding look on his face. Then Ray nodded to Mab. “You think about my offer. Don't be a fool.” He gave Joe one last fuck-you stare, stuck his cigar back in his mouth, and went down the midway.

Mab let her breath out.

“What a guy,” Joe said. “Let's try this again. Hello to you.” He kissed her, long and slow this time, no hands because his were full.

“Hello,” she said, coming up for air. Lying demon hunter or not, she was glad he was there. She peeked into the grocery bag and saw a bottle of wine beside white butcher-wrapped packages. “Wine?”

“I thought we'd stay in tonight,” Joe said. “Make dinner at your place. Go to bed early . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked at the Fortune-Telling Machine.

“Isn't she beautiful?” Mab said.

“Very. So what do you say about dinner?” Joe said, hoisting the bag again.

“Oh, yeah.” Mab took the bony-hand-stemmed glasses from him.

Joe turned to look at Vanth again as Mab tucked the glasses into her work bag.

“Don't stare,” she said. “There's a demon in there. Vanth.”

“You sure?”

Mab picked up her bag and turned back to Vanth. She could see the
blue pulsing inside easily now. No effort at all. “I'm sure.” She walked over to the glass. “I'll be back tomorrow to start the final overpainting on the outside of your booth. You look beautiful. Have a good night.”

The gears ground and a card shot out.

BE CAREFUL.

“Careful?” Mab said, frowning at it. “Careful of what? You?”

More gears and another card:

HE LOVES YOU ALL HE CAN, BUT HE CANNOT LOVE YOU VERY MUCH.

Mab caught her breath and looked at Joe.

“What's wrong?” he said, coming closer, and she handed him the card.

When he took it, it dissolved, turning into nothingness.

“Nice trick,” he said to the box, and then turned back to Mab. “You ready?”

“Nice trick?” she said to him.

“You said there's a demon in there, right?”

“Yes,” Mab said.

“Well, then, ‘nice trick, demon.' ” He looked down at her, for once not smiling. “I'm starving. You ready?”

“Yes,” she said, not looking at Vanth. She'd have to be crazy to take advice from a demon. Especially about a demon hunter.

“Then let's go,” he said, his voice easy again.

He put his arm around her, and Frankie launched himself off her shoulder to fly ahead, and they walked up the midway toward the Dream Cream, and Mab did not look back at all.

 

T
hat night at quarter to twelve, Ethan sat in the control booth for the Double Ferris Wheel, across the midway from Gus, who was in the Dragon Coaster booth, oblivious to the fact that he had a bodyguard nearby.

Ethan settled in and considered his day's work. He'd looked at the weapons Gus had brought from the Keep in his pack: all iron, which was brittle and could easily break; all thin and pointed; and all in need of a good cleaning. The only thing worth keeping in the whole batch had been a
knife with a long thin blade and a design on the handle—a crude arrow shape—that Gus told him to keep when he picked it up. “That's your dad's knife,” Gus had said. “It's a good Hunter's knife. Hank never carried it. He was lazy. And drunk most of the time.”

Ethan had taken his razor-sharp commando knife from its sheath on his combat vest and replaced it with his dad's knife. They'd patrolled the park but hadn't found any more evidence of the Untouchables, and through it all, Ethan stuck close to the old man. Glenda was back home after making arrangements for Delpha's cremation, safe in her own trailer now with the doors and windows locked, and Young Fred could defend himself, but Gus was getting slower by the minute and couldn't. So Ethan stood close by. No more demonic murders on his watch, not if he could help it—

Something moved in the dark, outside Ethan's booth. He stepped back into the shadows, and when it slipped inside the booth, he grabbed it by the throat and drew his dad's knife.

“Aaargh,” Weaver said.

He let go of her and put his knife away. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She rubbed her throat. “I told you I'd be in touch, although getting strangled wasn't what I had in mind. What are you doing here? Something's happening, isn't it?”

“How did you find me?”

She hesitated. “I bugged you.”

“What?”
he said, outraged. “How . . .” Then he remembered, that light hand on his thigh, taking his gun.

He pulled out his gun and looked at the holster closely until he found the bug.

“Okay, I'm sorry about that,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. She held something up in the darkness, big and bulky, like a bag. “But I brought guns. Demon guns. Is that what we're here for?”

“Just stay behind me and do what I tell you to do.”

“Sure, that's gonna happen.” She peered out the booth window. “Gus is just getting ready to run the Dragon. What's up?”

“Demons killed Delpha last night. Glenda's back at her trailer with a
crossbow with iron-tipped bolts and the doors locked, but I don't want them to get Gus while he does the Dragon run.”

She moved closer to him to see better, her shoulder touching his. “I'm sorry about Delpha. She told my fortune once. She seemed like the real deal.”