Wild Thing (37 page)

The three looked at one another.  The corpse of the dead youth at their feet, the failure of the shaman's magic, the vague sense of winter: Garland saw it had them all on edge.

The shaman stared down the hill.  'Let's move down lower, I want to try again.'

Garland's large-bellied partner stared at the shaman while chewing his tobacco substitute, clearly trying to hold his temper.  He spat on the ground.  'Didn’ you just say it didn’ matter where in the park you did it, so long as you invoked your little dirt-buddy inside the Park's boundaries?'

But the shaman stubbornly stood his ground, and they trudged back down the hill.

Simply moving away from the murder site should have made no difference, Garland knew.  So in a way it was even more disturbing when the spirit did at last appear.  Though it looked somehow smaller.  Smaller and
neater
.

From the expressions on their faces, none of this made sense to either the mage or the shaman.  It was the
same spirit
– it had to be, it was the spirit of the Golden Gate Park; the shaman had summoned it with the same force; it was only an hour later.  The spirit should not have changed so much.  Garland saw the fear in the shaman's eyes.  That would weaken and confuse him: not a good state in which to be invoking spirits.  Garland's teeth felt on edge.  This was all wrong.

And it only got worse when the questioning began.

'Did you see the murder of the man on the hill above us?'

They waited so long the shaman repeated his question.

'There is no hill.'

Garland watched his partner-mage and the shaman exchange disbelieving looks.

'The hill right here. 
Your
hill.  With the dead human male a short way up it.'

The spirit looked around vaguely.

It was too much for Berlusconi.  'Up there, goddamn it!' he shouted, stabbing a finger up into the woods.

The fleshy mage's futile outburst visibly settled the shaman.  'Up there,' he repeated for the spirit.  As the invoker, he was the one with an actual link to the entity.  Still it seemed confused.

'Follow me, then,' the shaman commanded.  'I'll take you there.'  He began climbing the slope while it marched, rustling after him, the other two following along behind it.  Part way up, some hint made the shaman turn to watch the spirit – just as it fell apart into a spiral of collapsing dirt and leaves.

Berlusconi, immediately behind the summoned spirit of the Park, nearly stumbled as he jumped aside to avoid treading in the stuff that had formed it, as if he thought the detritus might be poisonous.  'What in the name of fuksake just happened?'

The shaman looked stunned.  'It- Did you banish it?'

Berlusconi opened his mouth, then, with effort, took a grip on himself.  'No.  Because that would be stupid.'  He paused, and Garland watched as he visibly counted to ten.  'It looked like it just fell apart.  How about we try that again, more carefully, eh?'

The next time it fell apart even sooner.

The time after that, the shaman could not invoke it at all.

While his overweight colleague indulged his feelings in a long and creative stream of swearing, Garland turned to the uniformed men.  'We're finished here.  Go ahead and collect this body, too – we'll have to hope forensics can tell us something.  Magic certainly isn't going to.'

He moved off, deep in thought, his fleshy partner still inventing creative curses under his breath, while the shaman trailed numbly behind them.

For some reason, though, Garland's mind kept going back to the earlier two.  Dr Alex Harmon and the girl, Sara.

Especially Sara.

Why had her hair been damp?

Chapter 42 

That night, in the privacy of Harmon's rooms, they had another Feast.  Finest cut prime fillet steak.  He watched in wonder as she demolished hers.  A large portion.  Just as well he knew her appetite and had ordered accordingly.

'I don't know where all that food goes.  If you're not careful you'll get fat.'

She paused, a large chunk of very rare meat raised on her fork.  She closed her mouth abruptly.

'Am I fat?'  She put her fork down, looking suddenly distressed.

'No.  I simply said if you're not careful you will get fat.'

'So I
am
fat.'

'No.  Leeth, you are
not
fat.  Your BMI was fine last month, and I'm sure it will be fine this month too.  The weight seems to be muscle, not fat.'

'You're saying I'm chunky, then.'

'No!  Muscle is denser and weighs more than fat.  Your figure, in fact, is close to ideal for a girl your age.'

'My breasts are too small.'

He almost snorted his wine.

'Do you think they'll grow?'

He blinked, slowly, and at last said, 'At the rate they have been growing over the last few years, I would say they might grow a little larger.'

'Oh!  You've noticed!'

He looked away, disturbed.  He had noticed.  He had noticed, indeed.  But despite her continued provocations – conscious and unconscious – his resolve still held firm, however.

So far.

Certainly, it was not made any easier by the changes in her behavior.  She had become more familiar, more physically affectionate since that night: often taking his arm, or stealing a quick hug before breaking free.  Nor had he managed to harden his heart sufficiently to pour cold water on those small displays of affection.  He found he almost welcomed them, strangely enough.

Leeth suddenly leaned forward.  'Look, Keepie!  Vid: mute off.'

Both turned from the dining table, ignoring the remains of the repast as the projection enlarged and brightened, and the volume rose.

'… some new monster, roaming the idyllic Golden Gate Recreational Area?  I'm now crossing live for a virtual meeting with metropolice spokesman David Burke, in a full-sense render of the actual murder scenes, provided for us by Tik Tek WorldWeave
^TM
.  Whether you leave the world behind or weave a better one, you can always trust Tik Tek.  Chief Inspector Burke, what can you tell MetroWatch about these shocking murders?'

The perky newscaster gestured around at the two dramatically mutilated corpses at their feet, labeled with translucent “
artist's impression”
lettering.

Leeth's face fell.  'Which one is ’sposed to be mine, Keepie?'

'Be quiet.  I would imagine it's the larger one, with the rib-cage artistically folded back.'

Burke was middle-aged and jowly, and spared only a moment's disgusted look at the virtual corpses.  'Frankly, Bobbi, there are some puzzling aspects to this afternoon's double murder.  While both deaths were violent in the extreme, and the injuries were consistent with someone of great strength – and I don't want to single out any particular human subspecies – there are some strange differences.

'We've found traces of DNA from a female human on the first victim, along with fragments of wood – it appears a sharpened stake was used in the killing.'

'That's my one, Keepie!  But I didn't use the stick for-'

'Leeth, be quiet.  This is important.'

'We've also found traces of DNA from a male, Caucasian, who we believe applied the killing force to the second victim.  Included amongst the other DNA contaminants on that victim, however, were some from the suspected female murderess.'

'Fascinating, chief inspector.  Sounds like they were working together.  Presumably you have the identities of the killers?'

'Bobbi, we only have DNA samples from thirty-five percent of people who
have
CIDs,'

'What's sids, Keepie?'

'Citizen IDs.  Hush.'

'… and less than twenty percent from the CID-less scu- uh, from the
disenfranchised
…'

'What's dis-enFrench-?'

'Scum. Now
hush
!'

'… however, we do have one or two leads which we will be following up on shortly.'

'Our artists have done a few sample renders of possible creatures, Chief.  Would you care to…?'

Burke made his escape before the monster parade could begin, and Harmon ordered the volume down and frowned at her.  'Leeth, I asked you if you had killed “the other one” the police mentioned.  You said you had not.'  He gestured at the vid.  'But traces of your DNA were found on the second victim.  How do you explain that?'

She shrugged.  'I don't know.'

'The truth, Leeth.  Did you kill anyone else today?'

The words seemed surreal the moment he'd spoken them.  Ignoring the feeling, he focused on her.  On her aura.

'No.'  She frowned at him, puzzled.  'Why did you ask me again?  Why would I lie about it?'

Yes, why indeed?
  He began massaging his forehead. 
What have I created?

'Uncle?  What's wrong?'

'Well, leaving aside the disturbing coincidence that your DNA was found on both murder victims, there is a much greater problem.  Your DNA is now on record, linked to these killings.  Apparently your own citizen ID record doesn't contain a DNA sample, or you would now be in prison.'

'Oh.'

'Yes.  “Oh.”  It also means that should your DNA be entered into the system at some future date, you will be linked to this killing and arrested.'

'Oh.  Can we change it?'

He wasn't sure which she meant – her DNA, or her records – but the answer was the same in either case.  He sighed and shook his head, tiredly.  'No, Leeth.  No, we can't.'

He felt, though, he was overlooking something.  He drummed his fingers against the arm of the seat, chasing some horrible thought.

Oh, no
.

The two police officers.  Having to give their identities.  They would come here and take a sample from Leeth, and that would be that.  All over.

He sat staring dully into space.  All his work ruined.

He was unsure how long he'd been sitting there before the decision filtered through to his consciousness.  They would have to leave at once.  Now, tonight.

His thoughts seemed to be moving in slow motion. 
Shock
, he supposed, feeling disoriented.  He forced himself to stand.

As he did, his comm link buzzed on the bench by the portable oven in his kitchenette.  'Sanders here, Dr Harmon.  Pick up.  You have visitors who would like to talk to you.  Police.'

Harmon staggered, looking across in shock at Leeth.

She was grinning, excited.  'Wow.  This should be vish!'

'
Vish?'

'Dr Harmon?  Pick up, please.'

He headed over to the link.

'You know.  Vicious.'  She screwed up her face in thought, then her eyes lit up.  'We'll have to go on the run, Keepie!  After I kill these ones they'll send more, won't they?'  She clapped her hands together.

He stared at her in dismay, then gestured her to silence as he picked up the link.  'I heard you, Director.'  His mind seemed to start working again.  'I imagine it's in relation to an incident today in the Golden Gate Park?'  He nodded at the answer.  'In which case I assume the gentlemen would also like to question Sara?'

He held up one hand to quell the outburst which his private use of her “child name” always provoked.

'Your office?  Certainly, we'll be up directly.'

He cut the link, staring at Leeth who watched him, head cocked to one side.

'Do you have a plan, Keepie?'

'The Director will give us privacy if I request it.  If the police have not sent a mage, I may be able to adjust their memories.  Just don't kill anyone unless I say the word.'

He stopped, barely believing the words that had just come from his own mouth.  Leeth watched him closely, he saw, as she nodded with excited understanding.

His mind struggled through molasses as he desperately tried to think of a way out of the trap that had closed around them both.  This was impossible, a nightmare.  But all he said was, 'Just remember you have to pretend to be Sara, Leeth.  An innocent and harmless young girl.'

But he dared not Suggest that – if worse came to worst, he would need Leeth, not Sara, at his side.

But not at his back.  Never at his back.
 

Chapter 43 

He very nearly ordered Leeth to attack, the moment he stepped into Sanders's room.  The Director sat rigidly upright, but Harmon's attention had locked on his visitors.

The same two officers from the park.  That could not be good.

The one he had thought looked like a footballer loomed even larger in the confines of the office – almost two meters tall.  And studying the ribbons of deadness in his aura up close, he had been engineered with some combination of muscle augmentation, deep neural lacing, and sub-dermal armoring.

The other was the same fat mage who had questioned them in the park.  Now though, the energized shapes of his aura snapped from one configuration to the next – but always folding hyperactively around a general pattern of readiness.  Some kind of reflex-enhancement spell, presumably.  The two also maintained a good separation, bracketing Leeth and himself.

There was no way Leeth could tackle the cybered officer, and somehow Harmon sensed the heavy mage had a whole range of combat magic at his fingertips. 
We should have run
, he thought, sickly.

The man-mountain,
Detective Garland
, Harmon read from his badge, spoke.  'Dr Harmon.  Sara.  I have been authorized to take a DNA sample for comparative evidence in a homicide inquiry.'  Perched on the Director's desk, testing the load-bearing strength of the composite material, the man indicated a diagnostic unit resting at his side.

Professor Sanders sat stiffly at his desk, the night pressing up black and hard against the large window behind him.  His normally kind face looked almost coldly on them, his Imaginal form compressed in shapes of disappointment and emotional pain.

'Sara.  Please press your fingertip to the sampler.'

She held back, moving toward Garland while avoiding the unit, as if afraid it might leap up and bite her.  Harmon saw the man subtly tense, certain he'd attack if she got too close – but in
her
aura he read simple excitement, fascination, and genuine attraction.  Nor did he have to imagine the expression on her face – eyes wide, alight, lips parted.  Presumably it was the reason the warrior allowed her so close, even allowed Leeth to place one hand flat on his chest, gently kneading the musculature while staring in fascinated dread at the diagnostic machine.  Either that, or the man was that certain he could deal with her, despite suspecting her capabilities from the body in the Park.