Wild Ride (32 page)

She pushed him away. “I am not going to a hospital, and I am sure as hell not going to a military hospital.” She glared at Weaver. “I know what you're doing, the same thing you want to do with Ethan. You're not getting me into some Area 52 experimental lab.”

“Department 51,” Weaver said, taken aback. “And I wasn't—”

“No,”
Glenda said, and Mab could feel her spirit trembling as she said it.

“Okay, that's it.” Mab stood up. “Glenda, you calm down. Weaver worked like crazy to save your life, she's on our side. Weaver, stand down. Glenda's not going anywhere in any helicopter.” She looked at Weaver. “It's a black helicopter, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Weaver said, annoyed now. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Just checking my work.” Mab held out her hand to Glenda and helped her to her feet. “You really should let me call 911. You just
died
, for Christ's sake.”

Glenda leaned on her, white-faced and shaking. “No helicopter. No military.” She looked at Ethan. “Tura?”

“We got her,” Ethan said, and behind him Gus held up the chalice, looking like hell. “I don't know how, but it's over, she didn't kill the schmuck. We need to make sure Laura's all right.”

“I'll go see.” Gus shoved the chalice into Ethan's hand and hurried out of the tunnel.

Glenda slumped against Mab.

“Okay,” Mab said, holding her up. “We're going back to the trailers. Fred?”

Young Fred appeared from behind Weaver, looking shaken.

“Go get a golf cart. We have to get Glenda back home.”

“You bet,” he said, and ran down the tunnel to the opening, only to come back right away. “There's a helicopter out there.”

“Tell it to go away,” Mab said, and Weaver said, “You prefer a golf cart to a medevac? What's wrong with you people?” and strode down the tunnel.

“Lovely woman,” Mab said to Ethan.

“She has a point,” Ethan said, looking at his mother with concern, the chalice tucked under his arm. “You should be in a hospital,” he told her. “You should—”

“I want Mab,” Glenda said. “She'll know.” She pulled away and held out her right hand. “Tell me. Am I going to die?”

“Eventually,” Mab said. “Stop being such a drama queen. One near-death experience and you're acting like a diva.”

Glenda gave her the old don't-fuck-with-me look.

“Welcome back, Glenda,” Mab said, feeling a little teary about getting glared at again. “Left hand. This is about the heart, remember?”

Glenda held out her left hand, and Mab put her palm down on it.

A fluttery heartbeat growing stronger, sun shining, Glenda laughing in front of the Statue of Liberty.

“Huh,” Mab said.

“Am I going to make it?” Glenda said.

“Unless Heaven has a Statue of Liberty, yes.”

“Then I'm going back to my trailer,” Glenda said, just as Young Fred came back and said, “I've got the golf cart.”

Glenda took an unsteady step toward him, and he put his arm around her for support. “Come on, old lady, you ain't dead yet.”

“Call me an old lady again and you will be,” Glenda said, but she leaned on him just the same.

“I'll stay the night with her,” Mab told Ethan. “But then we have to talk. There are so many things wrong here—”

“
I'll
stay the night with her,” Ethan said, and after a moment, she nodded. “The high-tech stuff will work, we just have to figure out how.”

“The tech is crap,” Mab said, and went out into the cool night air.

A helicopter lifted off as she hit the midway, and Weaver stood looking after it, mad as hell, as Glenda got into the golf cart.

Ethan walked over to Weaver and put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to him, furious. “I'm going with Glenda,” he said. “I'll talk to you later.”

Then he got into the golf cart with his mother and set off down the midway, Weaver watching him in stony silence.

“I don't know him very well,” Mab said to her. “But I think he's a good guy. Tonight was just a mess all around, but he's doing his best—”

“He wants me to give everything while he gives nothing,” Weaver said. “My job is on the line here, he needs this equipment, but—”

“Just give him a chance,” Mab said. “We have to figure this out, but the two of you seem really good together—”

Weaver turned away, and Mab watched her walk off into the darkness, carrying her stupid gun.

“Don't blow this,” she called after her. “He's a good guy.”

Unlike the cheating bastard demon I had to go and fall for.

On the other hand, Glenda was alive. And now that she'd stopped fighting it, living the rest of her life in Dreamland didn't sound that bad. It wasn't like she'd
married
Fun or done anything irrevocable, she'd only known him a week, how bad could it be—?

Frankie flew down to rest on Mab's shoulder.

“I'd take him back,” she told the raven. “If he wasn't a demon, I'd take him back.”

Frankie did the closest thing to an eye roll she'd ever seen in a bird.

“Right. So tomorrow we move to Delpha's trailer so we can keep an eye on Gus and Glenda. You'll be back in your nest by this time tomorrow night.”

Frankie cawed, a cheese grater on a fire escape, and Mab smiled at the beautiful sound, full of approval and love.

“Yeah, that seems right to me, too,” she said, and headed for the Dream Cream.

 

R
ay sat down on the bench and said, “I found Tura and told her what you said, and she wasn't happy about it, but she let the Guardia take her. She's back in her chalice.”

TAKE THE CHALICE TO THE KEEP BEFORE SHE ESCAPES AGAIN.

“Tura killed Glenda.”

GLENDA
.

“But then Mab brought her back.”

MAB IS YOUR NIECE
.

“Yeah. She's not dead, either. I think she's Delpha's replacement.”

Too many young Guardia now. Too resilient. Not enough despair.
BRING MORE MINIONS
.

“Okay, maybe you didn't notice this, but the minions are not effective.”

SEND THEM TO HARASS THE GUARDIA UNTIL HALLOWEEN. THEN AT ONE MINUTE AFTER MIDNIGHT ON HALLOWEEN, DIVIDE THEM INTO FIVE GROUPS AND SEND THEM TO KILL EACH OF THE GUARDIA SEPARATELY AND SIMULTANEOUSLY
.

“That's a lot of minions.”

The front section of Ray's hair fell out, leaving him with a very high forehead.

“Right,” Ray said tiredly. “Minions harrying all week, killing all five at once after midnight Friday. So we're not protecting Glenda anymore?”

GLENDA IS NO LONGER GUARDIA
. Kharos paused for a moment, regretting the loss of all that beautiful power. She'd been . . . delicious.

“So okay,” Ray said. “The demons go after the Guardia on Saturday—”

THROW THEM INTO CHAOS. GRIND THEM WITH GRIEF AT THEIR LOSSES SO THEY ARE AS DUST
.

“Sure. Oh, I found out that Mab's going to repair Fufluns' chalice so they can recapture him. It's not a high priority, though. Ethan's a lot more worried about Glenda dying than he is about Fufluns.”

Kharos stared down at Ray. He was getting a lot of very good information about the Guardia very quickly.

How was Ray getting such good information?

Ray stood up. “So I'll go get the minions—”

CALL YOUR PARTNER TO ME
.

“What?” Ray said, cautious now.

I WISH TO MEET THE TRAITOR WHO IS HELPING YOU. SOMEONE IS TELLING YOU THINGS ONLY THE GUARDIA COULD KNOW. YOU HAVE SUBORNED SOMEONE WITHIN
.

“Well,” Ray said.

CALL THIS TRAITOR TO ME
.

“He's not going to be happy. He's doing this because he wants to retire, not because he hates the Guardia. And frankly, he's not of my quality. You're going to be disappointed when you meet him—”

CALL HIM
.

“Right,” Ray said, and dialed his cell phone.

Ten minutes later, Kharos stared out at a stripling.

YOU
WISH TO RETIRE
?

“I just want out,” Young Fred said, looking unsure. “You need to be free, we need to be free, it's a no-brainer. I set you free and nobody gets hurt, right?”

YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE
, Kharos thought, but he said,
RIGHT
.

Behind Young Fred, Ray rolled his eyes.

HERE'S WHAT I NEED YOU TO DO
, Kharos said.

“Y
ou rest,” Ethan said to Glenda as soon as they were in her trailer. “Just . . . sit down.”

Glenda sank down onto the red banquette, still a little rocky, and Ethan got the scotch from the cupboard, poured out a good slug, and drank it.

Then he looked at his mother. “You scared the hell out of me.” Glenda nodded jerkily. “I scared the hell out of me.” She found her cigarette pack and took one out, and then stared at it. “Death. That'll make you think.”

Ethan sat across from her with the bottle and his glass. “That was too close, too close to losing you, too close to not getting Tura. We have to do better.” He poured himself another slug.

“Not ‘we,' ” Glenda said. “I don't think I'm Guardia anymore.”

Ethan's hand paused with the glass halfway to his mouth. “What?”

Glenda spread her fingers out, concentrating—“Come on, burn,” she said—but they stayed just fingers, no little flames sprouting from the tips, and she folded her hand again, looking disconcerted but not unhappy. “I think I died and somebody else was called.” She smiled, and she suddenly looked twenty years younger, if still a little shaky. “I feel . . . different. Lighter.” She pointed to Ethan's glass. “Except for that, which depresses the hell out of me.”

Ethan closed his eyes.

“You have to stop drinking,” she said, and when he pulled back, she said, “Ethan, life is too short to waste. You have to stop taking the easy way out. That's why you brought Weaver in, big gun, big helicopter—because that's what we need here, more goddamn
metal
—you went with what was easy for you because your life is so damn hard. That's why you
drink, so you don't feel life, feeling sorry for yourself. The lone survivor.” Her voice grew harsh. “Well, better to be the survivor than the dead.”

She stopped, and Ethan realized she was breathing hard.

“Hey, slow down,” he said.

Glenda shook her head. “Gus is the only Guardia left with experience. And his hearing is going and he's old. It's amazing he can walk the tracks every morning and run the Dragon every night. You have an untrained team that you haven't even tried to bring together, and you don't know a damned thing about hunting Untouchables because you don't want to think about it, it's
unpleasant
.”

Ethan pushed the glass away. She was wrong, but she'd almost died and he was grateful to have her there, even if she was bitching at him.

She stood up, her hand on the table for support. “It's all up to you now, so you can do whatever you want, and if it doesn't work, well, you can just have a drink and forget it. The rest of the world will be in hell, but you'll be safe in the bottle.”

Ethan held up the wooden chalice. It was still warm, and he could sense Tura's seething presence inside. “Hey, we got her, we did that right. And we got Selvans, too.” He put the chalice down on the table with a thud. “And Fufluns is not going to kill anyone, right?”

“Just him being loose makes us vulnerable. The more Untouchables that are out of their chalices, the greater Kharos's powers. They strengthen him. And if Fufluns gets a chance, he'll let Tura out again. If all five get out, they can take their own shapes, they won't have to possess anybody, and then they'll be in full possession of their powers. We can't let that happen.”

“See, you didn't tell me that,” Ethan said, picking up his glass again.

“You wouldn't listen.” Glenda took a deep shuddery breath, and Ethan felt like hell.

She went over to the cupboard above the fridge, pulled out a small wooden box, opened the lid, retrieved a small steel key and handed it to Ethan. “The key to Hank's trailer. I made it ready for you whenever you decide to rejoin the human race.” She leaned over and kissed the top of his head and put a shaky hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for saving my life. Now sober up and save the world.”

She went down the short hall and shut the door, and Ethan was left
alone at the banquette with the bottle, the chalice, and the key in front of him.

Save the world.

Well, not tonight.

He drank the rest of his scotch and then went out to the woods and got his sleeping bag. When he came back, he listened at Glenda's door. Snoring. Alive.

He wedged the bedding in the hall in front of her door and stretched out.

He couldn't save the world tonight, but he could protect his mother.

 

E
than woke before dawn. He hadn't slept well, dreaming about being shot again, a searing pain in his chest, the screams of his team leader, so it took him a few seconds to get oriented. He almost knocked over Tura's chalice, which was right next to his head as he sat up and reached for his pistol.

His chest was killing him. He reached inside his vest and shirt to the scar where the bullet had entered and felt a hard lump.
What now?
He sat up and peeled off the vest, then removed his shirt. He could see the lump, right below the scar, and for a moment thought it was old stitches working their way out but realized it was too big and too hard for that.

Much too big. More the size of . . . a bullet.