Deathwish

10

Rafferty’s house was over the Verrazano Bridge on Staten Island. It looked the same as it had the last time we’d visited. A tired and deserted ranch house with a fence in the back large enough to hold the biggest of dogs . . . or wolves. Behind that was the nature preserve, thousands of bare trees. Robin, as always, proved adept at gaining illegal entry. I doubt he even broke stride on the simple lock. There was a click of metal against metal, a turn of his wrist, and we were inside. There the utilities were still turned on, a sign that Rafferty thought his trip would be short, or he didn’t have any idea how long he’d be gone. If he’d thought the first, he was wrong. We hadn’t been able to contact him in months. Normally I wouldn’t have invaded his privacy, but desperate times . . . desperate measures. His place suited our needs perfectly.

There was only one problem. It wasn’t on par with the Auphe, Oshossi, or, say, a two-headed werewolf, but it was a problem nonetheless, and one my brother was more than capable of handling. I handed him the toilet plunger as he walked out of the kitchen.

“There’s nothing left in . . .” He stopped to stare glumly at the plunger. “Jesus.”

“I doubt that. If you were he, you could simply wave a hand, unstop it, and simultaneously turn the water to wine. Sadly, we’ll have to settle for your plumbing skills.”

“Why me?” he demanded.

“Why not you? Or do you plan on holding it until we find Oshossi and destroy the Auphe? If so, best to avoid colas.”

“This is revenge, isn’t it?” He took the wooden handle with resignation.

“In a word,” I replied without hesitation, “yes. Plus Buddha-loving bad-asses like me have better things to do.”

He looked with trepidation down the hall toward the bathroom door. “Revenge for that. Revenge for last night with the gate. Do I even want to go in there?”

I curved my lips. It wasn’t reassuring. It wasn’t meant to be. He groaned, turned, and trudged down the hall. For the moment, I was alone. Everyone else was outside unpacking the two cars, and I took the opportunity to move to Rafferty’s surgery. It was simply a large bedroom with three neatly made beds, shelves of medical supplies, and the kind of cheap tile that makes it easy to mop up blood. God knew it had seen its share of it. This was the place where Cal had nearly died, then did die, and was brought back. There were no ghosts in our world, I knew that, but if there had been, they would’ve been here.

There was the sound of a footstep. I turned with my sword drawn before my mind had time to catch up with my body. Robin appeared in the doorway, eyes immediately going to the katana. I sheathed it, but didn’t apologize. There was no reason to. He’d lived through the nightmare that had happened in this room the same as I had. He knew.

“I suggest we give this room to Cherish and her pet,” Goodfellow advised as he walked in and circled to take it in with pensive eyes. “Promise and you can have one bedroom, and I the other.”

“And Cal?” Who hadn’t gone near the room since we’d walked through the front door. Among the three of us, he’d had the better sense.

Robin raised his voice to carry. “The couch. He is the youngest, and his ass is so frequently glued there anyway.” His lips quirked as an outraged “I heard that, you bastard” came echoing down the hall.

He gave a light squeeze to my shoulder. “Let us go from here. This isn’t a good place for any of the three of us.” Once in the hall, he promptly closed the door to the room. Out of sight, out of mind. Hopefully. “I’ve called all of my normal homes away from home, the hotels to the fabulous. No one who matches Oshossi has checked in. From the look of him, I doubt he’s staying at a flea trap. I’ll try the private residences for rent next. I know several real estate agents, most as amoral as I am. Almost.” He grinned. “I’ll give them a call. Now”—he clapped hands together—“where do we obtain food in this desolate wasteland? I couldn’t see a single five-star restaurant from the porch.”

“We might want to consider a store,” I pointed out.

“Store? Food doesn’t come from a store. It comes from restaurants or a personal cook, and I doubt any of you are up to my chef standards. The last time we were here, we ate microwave food. Microwave. You may as well circle that monstrous machine with the River Styx and call it the life-sucking Hades that it is.”

“And what did you do before there were restaurants?” I asked, torn between patience and drawing my sword again.

“I had nubile maidens to feed me grapes, and muscular men with honey-covered . . .”

I went to see if Cal needed any help in the bathroom.

That evening, we sat in Rafferty’s comfortable but definitely suburban living room, finishing off Chinese takeout. Robin, horrified and bemused by the bright orange sauce with the consistency of Jell-O that dripped from his chicken, was shocked into an uncustomary silence. Cal sat on the floor with his egg rolls, letting the rest of us have the couch and chairs. Xolo . . . Xolo had a talent for disappearing into the background. I sharpened my attention and caught a glimpse of his sweatshirt and hairless head through the doorway in the kitchen. He was looking raptly out of the window.

“Cherish, does he see anything?” I asked.

She turned her head, then shook it. “No, he’s a simple perrito; pat his head, play with him, and he is easily entertained. He just likes to look.”

“You did bring goat’s blood, right? He’s not going to start gnawing on our legs or anything, is he?” Cal said.

I saw the effort she made not to give him the look that so many others did, as if he were a bomb seconds away from exploding into metal, violence, and death. Unfortunately, Cal saw the effort it took as well. He didn’t say a word, only stared back at her without expression. “No,” she said. “No more than you would. And I brought what he requires.”

“No more than I would, huh? You have a lot of faith there suddenly.” He pushed the white carton aside and lay on his back, hands behind his head, to stare at a spackled ceiling instead of stars.

“I behaved badly before. I apologize.” She exhaled, “So many apologies. I’m turning respectable, Madre.” She smiled at Promise. “Who would ever have thought?” Then she added, “But I was startled. I had never seen an Auphe before.”

“You haven’t seen an Auphe yet,” I said flatly.

Eyes identical to her mother’s started to darken, but Promise stopped her with an upraised palm. “Don’t. Niko is telling you something important. You have not seen an Auphe, and if you assume they will in any way look like or act like Caliban, then when you do see one, you will freeze and you will die.”

“Chances are you’ll die anyway,” Robin offered morosely as he let the possibly radioactive chicken fall back into its container. “We all will. Death by Auphe or MSG; both are too hideous to contemplate.” He waved an arm at the brown faux-leather couch and the carpet, worn to the nap. “Much like this furniture. This house. This Cordon Bleu-free land of minivans, tricycles, and polyester. This isn’t Hades. It’s worse than Hades. No. No more.” Abruptly, he pushed up to his feet. “I am going home. Now. Where are my keys?”

I’d seen this coming since we’d crossed the midway point on the Verrazano. I pulled the glittering silver metal from my pocket and twirled the key ring once around my finger. “Sit.”

“As if I need those to start a car,” he sneered.

“True. And I could slice the tires with my katana, or remove the steering wheel, but then you could call a cab. I’m aware.” I tossed the keys to him. “This is only for the night. Tomorrow Cal and I have to meet Mickey and see what he’s learned. Come and go as you please then. I know we can’t stay together as one, not and accomplish anything, not anymore. But let’s have one last night where we all have a chance at a good sleep. Watch split five ways is better than two or three, or you up all night at your orgy of choice.”

“Then this is our safe house.” He made the keys disappear, reappear in the other hand, then vanish altogether. “Not my prison.”

“Yes. This is a good place for Cherish to hide temporarily, but it’s not a permanent answer. Everyone has Cal’s cell number. As with the ccoa attack, we’ll come if you call.” “We” because he would not be opening any gates unless I was there. He would not be going anywhere unless I was with him. The Auphe weren’t taking him from me, not again, and not for a reason so horrifying I could barely think it. I looked down at him. “Can you do that? Open another gate?”

He propped up on his elbows and shrugged. “Hey, it’s only sanity.” Behind the dark humor I saw his recognition of my trust in his control—that he ruled the Auphe blood, it did not rule him.

“It’s not so bad, kid.” Robin told him, suddenly cheerful at the thought of freedom. “Think about it. Without the gates and travelling you’d just be another cranky asshole with a gun.”

“Don’t go home until this is over, if you can help it. Stay elsewhere, but avoid your usual haunts. And try to never be alone even during the day,” I went on dryly to Goodfellow. “But I don’t think that will be a problem for you.”

“And the Auphe?” Cal sat all the way up, the humor gone.

“They have forever, little brother. We don’t. As long as we have our phones, you can gather us in a matter of seconds.” With the Auphe, seconds was often all they needed, that was true, but the “forever” was true as well. “We can’t only react to them anyway, to only expect them, not if we hope to win. Just as with Oshossi, we need to be more proactive. We need to take this war to them.” Although how, I didn’t know, with Tumulus out of the running. We couldn’t go to them. We could only wait for them to come to us.

But Cal seemed more confident. And of all of us, he did have the best chance of thinking of a way. Not because he was Auphe, but because he’d been held prisoner by them for two years. He knew them, subconsciously at least, in a way the rest of us couldn’t begin to. “Okay, you’re right. It’s done,” he said simply. He didn’t elaborate, lying back down on the carpet with arms folded across his chest and eyes closed.

“Considering they’re the most murderous creatures on the planet,” Robin drawled dubiously, “how do you plan on that?”

“I’ll tell you when I know,” he responded.

“But if you’re going to spout such outrageous claims, I think that . . .”

Eyes still shut, Cal held up his forefinger and thumb as if his hand were a gun and pointed it up at Robin, his aim unerring right between the eyes. “I’m a cranky asshole with a gun and superpowers, remember? Try giving me a day to work on it, at least, before you start bitching.” Although I imagined he’d been working on it all along, just as I had. I hoped he had more success than I was having.

Robin settled back into his chair. “A day is asking much even for one with the patience of Job. Speaking of Job, the real Job, did you know he single-handedly destroyed the concept of property and health insurance in its infancy? If not for him, you would’ve had HMOs two and a half thousand years earlier. But he broke the First Uzite Health and Home Insurance Company in its first year.”

“You are so massively full of shit.” Cal folded his arms again.

“Why do you think all insurance companies now exclude acts of God?” he countered smugly.

He had a point.

The next morning Cal and I stood on the cracked concrete of Rafferty’s driveway as I said to Robin, “You’re not coming back here tonight, are you?”

He bounced the keys again and evaded, “As you said, we can’t live this way forever.”

“You think I’m having the time of my life out here getting my ass kicked in cards by something that looks like he’s one step away from drinking out of the toilet?” Cal said sharply. “Suck it up.”

“Trust me. I plan on it.” Cal got the smirk he deserved on that one, but it was followed by an almost apologetic shake of his head, “I cannot do it. No more.” Pucks weren’t the types to be tied down against their will, whether something as deadly as the Auphe were the incentive or not. I was surprised he’d made it as long as he had. That he’d done it for us didn’t escape me. He gave Cal a reassuringly breezy grin. “But the second I crave your sour and sullen company, I’ll be back in a flash.”

“Maybe I’m only sour and sullen when you’re around. Maybe when you’re not there driving me nuts, I’m a regular ray of fucking sunshine. Ever think of that?”

I’m not worried about you; you’re not worried about me—with their invulnerability to the less testosterone-driven emotions asserted to each other, we were finally ready to leave the playground. “You might want to check on your cat briefly. Very briefly,” I suggested to Robin as he opened the driver’s door to his car. As I’d said before, his home wasn’t safe. “If she killed the neighbor’s dog, what might she do to the neighbor herself?”

He winced. “Damn. You would have to plant that thought in my mind. Other than that, I will try to avoid my condo, but I may have to put in a small amount of time petting the hairless zombie for a bit—only to keep my furniture intact and my neighbors alive, of course.” He inserted the keys into the ignition. “It’s not as if I miss the smell of ginger in the morning or the jingle of her collar.”

“You bought that thing a collar?” Cal said in disbelief, missing the real point that indeed Robin missed his cat.

“Where else would I put her identification tag?” Robin started the car and was out of sight in seconds.

“Holy crap.” Cal shook his head. “What do you think it says? The tag?”

“Just the basics, I’m sure.” I headed for our own car, parked on the street. “Dead cat. If found, please call.”

Promise had wanted to stay with Cherish in case there was an unusual daytime attack. We left them behind windows shuttered against the sun and drove off as Robin had, although with less abstinence-induced speed. We were headed for another talk with Ishiah. Face-to-face was always better than the phone. They can’t see your knife through the receiver.

Cal bounced from station to station on the radio for several minutes before giving up. “Cherish was telling me stories this morning while you were out back doing your katas.” He slapped hands lightly against his knees. “Well, after she flipped out anyway.”

“She . . . ah . . . flipped out?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. “That card sharp shaved dog of hers was standing by the fridge, looking hungry, so I poured him a glass of goat’s blood.” He pulled a repulsed face. “Personally, I’ll stick with coffee. But Cherish came into the kitchen, freaked the hell out, and slapped the glass out of his hand. She told me I was ‘under no circumstances’ ”—he gave his best haughty imitation—“to feed her beloved Xolo. I was just doing a favor for the mangy mutt.” He shrugged. “But the princess cleaned up the mess herself, actually apologized, and made me coffee. Said Xolo was all she had. She knew she was overprotective. Blah, blah, went into some Dr. Phil crap, and I almost dozed off.”

He rolled down the window a crack to let in a stream of icy air. I didn’t blame him. Whatever Mickey had used to cover his scent still lingered in the back of the car. “I guess she noticed, because then she started to tell me about all the jobs she’s pulled. She gives Robin a run for his money. Knows everyone. Ripped off ninety-nine percent of them. Should’ve been a puck instead of a vampire. She was also asking where we’d learned to fight, who I thought was the best of all three of us. Could we give her lessons.”

“I’m surprised the two of you got along well enough to talk,” I said as I watched pearl-white clouds hang heavier and heavier. Snow; you could smell it in the air. “And who of the three did you claim to be best?” I asked, amused.

“By the two of you, yeah, I know you mean me,” he snorted. “I gave her twenty minutes and tuned her out. That’s the best I could do. As for the best, I’m not that stupid, Nik. I said it was a toss-up between you and Robin, but I definitely came in dead last.”

With swords that was true. However, with his gates and guns and Auphe genes that were more active all the time, I wondered. If he did lose control for good, Robin and I together might not be enough. I tightened my hands on the steering wheel. But that wasn’t going to happen. Cal wouldn’t give in to it, and I wouldn’t let him.

Unpleasant and unnecessary thoughts, and I distracted myself with others. He had tried with Cherish, because of what Promise meant to me. Naturally, Cal’s trying fell under the category of not walking out of the room the second she walked in, but it was effort, and I gave it the appreciation it deserved. “McDonald’s drive-thru?” Positive reinforcement; it was a good way to train dogs and brothers.

After a grease-laden bag was dumped in his lap, he took a bite of something that squirted syrup, dripped bits of egg and biscuit, and lost an entire sausage patty to the floor. “I’m surprised it didn’t come blended in a cup of coffee. It would’ve made things much simpler,” I said with distaste, sticking with the only palatable thing I’d found on the menu: orange juice. And I was careful to check for chunks of waffle floating within. “Did Cherish have anything to offer other than tales of misbehavior?”

“Nope, not that they weren’t fun. She’s not that bad once she gets over herself. She told me one story about some sheik, a huge diamond, and how long it takes something that big to go through a camel’s digestive system. Gotta say, she worked for the money on that one.” He wiped his mouth with the back of my hand. I felt the internal twitch and quelled it. Not every battle is worth fighting. Focus on the war. “Like I said, she was curious about our amazing ass-kicking abilities too, although more you, really. You’re apparently a vampire-nookie magnet. Guess that makes my monster half yesterday’s news.” He finished off the McAngioplasty and stuffed the wadded paper back into the bag. “She also wanted to know where we grew up. How’d you get to be so great a swordsman. Were you always your brother’s keeper.”

All that in twenty minutes. Cal had been more social than he wanted to admit. “And you said?” It wouldn’t be unusual for her to be curious about the man occupying her mother’s bed. It would be unusual if she weren’t.

“I said it was none of her goddamn business, and went to take a shower.” He frowned. “At least I’m pretty sure I did. The coffee hadn’t kicked in yet.”

“Thankfully you were polite,” I said sardonically. Now that was more like the brother I knew.

“I do what I can.” He leaned the seat back and rolled over onto his side. “She can get in good with the stepdad on her own time. See you in twenty.”

Cal had pulled the last watch. He needed the nap. I didn’t mind the silence during the drive. I never minded silence. The lingering smell of greasy pork death I could’ve done without, but in life there are always challenges.

He slept hard, twitching occasionally, until I parked about two blocks down from the Ninth Circle. I didn’t need to guess at his nightmares. They were the same as my own. Insanity, slavery, and far worse. But it wouldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let it. Cal wanted to carry the burden this time, but no one could carry that one alone. The moment I turned off the engine, he woke up. He blinked once, took in his surroundings, and said, “You know the only thing Ish will be interested in giving us is his foot up our asses?”

“You could be right.” Unfortunately for Ishiah, whom I thought so far to be honorable in his fashion, I was more concerned about my brother than I was about his ass-kicking threats. The sooner we solved Cherish’s problem, the sooner we could completely concentrate on our bigger one. And by now some information on Oshossi could’ve surfaced among the bar patrons. “But our options are limited.”

“You ever think of just hauling Cherish’s ass off to Central Park and dumping her there?” he asked, gray eyes calm and, yes, ruthless. “Let God, Zeus, and Allah sort it out?”

“No.” She was Promise’s daughter, and although a careless thief, she wasn’t entirely without merit. Although even if she had been, I would do what I could for her for Promise’s sake. And she did seem to be changing for the better . . . or at least trying to. Putting people if not before her, then at least equal to her. It counted for something, especially in one that young. And she did care for Promise now, and that counted for much more than just something. “Do you?”

He didn’t answer, rubbing his knuckles thoughtfully along his jaw. “I think I’ll plead the Fifth on that one.” Getting out, he slammed the door shut. “Not too fair to Promise to make her think my shit smells like roses if I’m actually thinking something . . .”

“Survival oriented?” I offered.

“That sounds better than ‘homicidal.’ Yeah, thinking something survival oriented about her daughter. Let’s go with that.” He started to grin, but it twisted to a frown as his eyes slid from one side of the street to another.

“Cal?” I looked as well, but saw nothing. That didn’t mean there was nothing to see.

He looked back at me. “Eh, it’s nothing. Just feeling paranoid. What with the Auphe in heat and a South American ass-kicker after us. Go figure.”

We walked the two blocks as the snow began to fall. It wasn’t the puffy flakes of Christmas cards and winter wonderlands. It was small pellets of hard white ice that bit at your face and collected under the collar of your coat. Breath billowing in the air, Cal pulled at the handle of the bar’s front door. It didn’t budge. “Huh. It’s past noon. It should be open.” He dug in his pocket for the keys, turned one in the lock, and opened the door. He didn’t go in; he didn’t take even a step. I saw him inhale sharply. His grip on the door handle tightened.

The lights were out, the windows covered, but I could see Ishiah in the interior gloom of the empty bar. He sat at a table alone with a bottle of whiskey and a glass. “Go away.” His voice was one of the perfectly sober. I thought he wished he weren’t.

“Who?” Cal asked, his own hoarse.

“Cambriel.” He lifted the full glass and drained it. “Go away.”

Cal closed the door with a jerky motion and rested his forehead against it. He had smelled them as soon as he had opened the door. I hadn’t needed to. Seeing Ishiah was enough to know what had happened. Cambriel was a bartender I’d seen before. Cal had talked about him a few times. Had said he didn’t quite have the peri temper that Ishiah had, but damn close. When push came to shove and the bar erupted, he could fight like a winged lion. Hold his own against the wolves, the vampires, the revenants.

But not against the Auphe.

Cal had worked at the bar for a while now. Months. Day after day. It was an association the Auphe couldn’t have missed, and one we hadn’t even considered. “It’s just a job, Nik,” he said, closing his eyes. “Just a stupid goddamn job. I didn’t know Cam. I mean, he poured a mean shot and never turned me in if I took a long lunch, but I didn’t know him. Him or Ishiah. They’re just guys I work with.”

If that were true, and I wasn’t sure that it was, for the Auphe it seemed to be enough. “Call Delilah and let her know.” He didn’t move. I took a handful of his jacket and shook him lightly. “Cal, call. Now.”

“Okay.” He straightened and stepped away from the door as if it were red-hot. “Call Delilah. All right. I got it.”

Keeping my eyes on him, I stepped far enough away that he couldn’t hear my conversation with Georgina. She answered on the first ring. “Niko. Hello.”

“Will you be there?” I asked.

“I already am.” There was the usual gentle impish-ness in the words.

Georgina had held court at a tiny ice cream shop since she was eight. People came, they bought ice cream, and they asked what they needed to ask. She alone had kept the shop and its Methuselah-aged owner up and running. She didn’t take money for what she did. Georgina was like that.

I called Robin next. Friend, enemy, wary ally, whatever Ishiah was to him, he should know what had happened. I caught him in the middle of what I fully expected to and managed to end both his good mood and aerodynamic lift instantly. I disconnected in the middle of his cursing. What he did with the information was his decision, but I had a feeling letting Ishiah drink alone in an empty bar that had been a former Auphe Ground Zero wasn’t going to be the one he made.

“Cal.”

His eyes, fixed and bleak, were back on the bar door. At my call, he looked away and shoved his cell phone in his jacket pocket. “Delilah’s okay. Hasn’t seen anything.”

“Good. Let’s go.” I put my own phone away and felt the brush of steel in my pocket. One of the smaller throwing knives I carried—barely five inches long. I had ten on me now, along with my katana, wakizashi, and tanto blades. It was adequate for an average day. It didn’t feel adequate today.

“Go where?”

“Do your meditation,” I advised, turning and heading toward the nearest subway entrance. We had the car, but seeing Georgina meant a very roundabout approach. I didn’t see any Auphe on the rooftops, and Cal obviously didn’t smell any now or sense a gate. They probably weren’t here anymore, but probably wasn’t good enough. We absolutely could not be followed. That meant several evasion tactics, train switches, and fall backs.

“Why would I need medi . . . shit, we are not going to see George. We can’t risk that.” He came after me, hand on my shoulder stopping me as he moved in front of me. “Nik, no. Okay? Just no.”

“It’s all we have,” I explained. “We’ll take care. We won’t be followed.”

“Can you guarantee that?” he demanded.

I gave him patient silence as the snow beat harder.

“Yeah, yeah. You can.” His hand fell away. “I still don’t want to take the chance, and I don’t want to go. She won’t tell us anything anyway. And I really don’t want to see her.”

Understandable. Hurt; no one wants to embrace that. Cal had done all he could to be rid of Georgina, to save her from precisely the sort of thing that was happening now. The right thing and the easy thing; they could never be one and the same. “She may not, but I want to ask. I have to explore all our avenues, no matter how dim the chance. And you can wait outside.” Because separating was not an option.

“Shit,” he said again. “Ten blocks down. That’s the best I can give you, Cyrano. I’m not taking any chances on them remembering her. You’re the best, but I just can’t.”

I didn’t want to take chances with Georgina either, but I was more concerned with his being that far away. But he was stubborn, and if I pushed it, he might take it up to fifteen blocks.

It took us well over an hour to get to the ice cream shop, but the time was well spent. I knew we hadn’t been followed and I canvassed a four-block radius around the building. I’d left Cal those ten blocks away, huddled in a corner where a liquor store butted up against the larger building next door. “Hurry up,” he said, pulling up the collar on his jacket and sticking his bare hands in his armpits. “My balls are finally getting me some action. Turning them into ice cubes isn’t much of a thanks.”

“Go inside, then,” I said impatiently. “Buy something—a brain cell, perhaps.”

“No, thanks. If somebody accidentally dropped a bottle behind me . . . yeah, I think you get the picture. Enclosed places with one way out aren’t exactly my friends right now. Now hurry the hell up. Go get jack shit off George so we can go.”

It was Cal and his stubborn bravado . . . not at their best, but there. And that counted. I pulled off my gloves, black silk hunting ones. They kept the warmth in and allowed the finer touch for pulling triggers and tossing knives. I handed them to him. I didn’t bother to ask where his were. I knew he had no idea. “And don’t put them down your pants. Your balls will have to survive as best they can.” I left him as he was pulling the gloves on and looking up at a white sky that kept falling. . . . He was doing his best not to imagine a portrait of Georgina through a frosted plate glass window.

It was overly warm inside the shop when I arrived. It was also empty except for its proprietor, reading the paper with hugely magnified lenses, two body-guard wolves in human form in a booth by the window, and Georgina.

Younger than Cal by two years, she was the oldest soul I’d come to meet. Wrapped in the package of an eighteen-year-old girl wearing a dark red velvet coat that was a bit worn around the hem. Consignment wear, but as with most things regarding Georgina, it was right for her. As this place was right for her. She took what came and always seemed content in it. Her nose was pierced since I’d last seen her. A tiny garnet. She was beautiful, if your eyes were open to what beauty truly was. It was in the softness of chocolate eyes, the pixie cap of dark red waves, skin of deep brown-gold, and freckles that sprinkled a perfectly ordinary nose. She had Samuel’s, her uncle’s, smile . . . slow and thoughtful.

“Niko.” There came that smile.

I sat in the booth opposite her. “Georgina.” I bowed my head to her as I had done to all my instructors at the many dojos over the years. In many ways, she was as much a teacher as they had been.

The smile faded. “I’m sorry. I tried. I did.”

“Tried? What did you try?” My hopes that she would help us were faint, straw-grasping, but if she were at least making an attempt, maybe they weren’t all in vain.

Her eyes were sad as she reached across the table to take one of my hands in hers. “I can’t change things, but I’d hoped I could look and see where the path ends. Where you and Cal will be when this is all over. I wanted to be able to tell you that you would pass through this. Be safe.” Her hands tightened on mine . . . with fear, I thought. “But I can’t. I can’t look because I’m afraid of what I’ll see. I can’t help you, and I can’t comfort you either,” she said with resignation.

“Georgina, you may be all we have.” We might find Oshossi, between Robin and Mickey, but no one could track the Auphe. They were here, there, nowhere . . . a poison-tainted wind.

“I’m sorry.” She squared her shoulders to deny, “There’s nothing I can do.”

Nothing. Nothing she could do. Nothing she would do. Her hands were warm on mine. She couldn’t be moved any more than a marble saint, yet she felt warm. It seemed wrong. The oldest soul I’d met and the oldest I hoped I ever did come to see. She was wise and compassionate beyond her years, beyond a simple human span of years, in fact. I respected her for it, but lately I’d come to see that the compassion of someone who sees the entire world as opposed to the single struggling ant isn’t necessarily a human compassion.

“There’s a reason and a purpose to even the darkest of the dark. Hold on to that, Niko,” she said softly. “Please.”

Purpose. Knowing that your purpose in life will inevitably be fulfilled isn’t a comfort when your purpose is to die ripped to shreds before your brother’s eyes to drive him insane. And that would be a kind and giving act compared to what would be done to him then. Insane or not, catatonic or screaming day and night, they would use him. Violate him until the day he died. Wishing he were dead before they had that opportunity was the best I could hope for.

Hold on to that? Forgive me if meditation only took me so far.

In many ways Georgina, who was fully human, was less human than Cal. In the two years we’d known her, she’d always refused to meddle with the larger affairs of the universe. She’d find a lost dog, tell if a baby would be a girl or a boy, offer hope that, yes, love was coming, and that your sick relative would pull through. She gave warmth and comfort, but she wouldn’t save your life. She wouldn’t save her own, if it came to that. In this situation she wouldn’t even look to see the outcome. Wouldn’t tempt her own philosophy. She had a wisdom only seen in the holiest of people.

But speaking from the ant’s perspective, I wished she had less wisdom and a more human perspective, because now people she could’ve saved were dying. I’d thought that might make a difference. It seemed I thought wrong.

“The Auphe killed one of Cal’s co-workers at the bar,” I said. “Did you know that?”

“I knew when you called. I am so sorry for Cambriel.” She plucked his name from the air like a bit of drifting dandelion fluff. “I wish it were different, Niko. Please know I do, but we all have to walk the road before us. I can’t change that.” She sounded genuinely sorrowful.

“I had my sympathy for your position, Georgina.” But it was gone. “But do you know what they plan to do to Cal? Do you know it’s a thousand times worse than any torture, any death? If they take my brother when a few words from you could’ve stopped it, I’ll have nothing at all for you then. Not one damn thing.” My hand tensed to stone under hers. “For once break a rule. If not for me, then for Cal.”

She withdrew her hands. “I can’t,” she said with a sudden and sharp flash of anger. I might wonder at her humanity, but she reacted the same as anyone when pushed into a corner. “Do you think I haven’t tried? When I was a child, before I knew better? You think I didn’t try to save my best friend or my grand-mother? Or the nice neighbor who made me cookies and didn’t deserve to burn alive in her apartment? I did try, and it was for nothing.” She slapped a small hand on the table. “Nothing. You can change the twists and turns, you even can make the way smoother, easier, but you can never change what lies at the end.”

“You haven’t looked, then, to see how all this will end?” I persisted. “You can’t at least give us that? You can’t at least look?”

“No. I told you I can’t. I tried, but I can’t. Call me a coward if you want.” She lifted her chin. “I know I’ve heard it before, but I just can’t look for endings anymore. Do you think I’d want to live whatever happens twice?” The anger disappeared as suddenly as it had come, melting to sorrow and regret. “I might have to accept the end of the path, but that doesn’t mean I don’t cry for it.” She wrapped her coat tightly around her, as if it were cold. It wasn’t. She looked away. “I miss Cal. Don’t tell him. It would only hurt him. But I do miss him.” And he missed her, but there was little to be done about that now. Both had stubbornly tied a knot in their relationship there was no getting around.

“Georgina, please.” It wasn’t a word I said often. I said it now with an angry desperation you didn’t need psychic powers to sense.

She pulled the coat tighter around her neck. “Good-bye, Niko, and take care.”

A singularly useless thing for her to say, I thought more savagely than I was proud of. Tumble into your razor-lined pit of destiny, but take care as you do so. My friend, my lover, and my brother gathered under Damocles’ sword . . . a hair from brutal and bloody death, all of them, and that was what she offered me.

“Just look,” I said sharply.

She slid out of the booth and began to walk away. I thought I saw tears. I didn’t care.

“Look.”

She disappeared into the back of the store. I gripped the edge of the table hard for a moment, then surged to my feet, flipping it over with a crash that sent the owner scrambling for the phone. The wolves watched me warily. They knew who I was through Delilah, and they knew I wasn’t Auphe. But they also knew I was dangerous. They slunk past me and followed Georgina out of sight, leaving me with the wreckage of my futility.

Outside the store I walked the ten blocks to Cal, who looked at my face and said warily, “What? What happened?”

I took his arm and pushed him into motion, saying brusquely, “I lost my temper. I imagine the police are on their way. Let’s go.”

It was dusk as we pulled up to the Seventy-second Street pedestrian entrance to Central Park to wait for Mickey. When we’d dropped him off on his mission, we’d set this as the time and pickup place for his retrieval. Not that it was easy to know it from what lay outside the car. A full-on blizzard had us surrounded by blowing white snow. You could barely see five feet, and it didn’t look to be letting up anytime soon. It could be dusk or midnight for all one could tell. The winter wonderland I’d been so skeptical of earlier in the day had shown up with a vengeance.

We’d killed several hours checking to see if our landlord had replaced our door yet, getting more clothes from our apartment, eating lunch, and buying more ammunition for Cal. Not once did he bring up the subject of the scene at the ice cream shop after I’d filled him in, which, to be fair, I’d been tempted not to. Now I wasn’t sure if I was grateful, or worried that he’d had some form of mild stroke that had robbed him of the information. He hadn’t even said anything about my throwing of the table, true harassment fodder I’d never thought he’d let pass.

“Are you drooling?” I asked abruptly, tapping one of my small throwing knives against the steering wheel. “Numbness in one side? Any incontinence I should be aware of?”

Eyelids half-mast and lazy lifted all the way. “No more so than usual, Nik, but you’re a helluva brother just for asking.”

“Mmm.” I flipped the blade, slid it under my sleeve, back out, and then flipped it again.

He straightened in the seat. “Not that you were exactly the poster boy for meditation yourself there, but do you really want me to give you hell over something I’ve wanted to do a few times myself?” He planted a knee against the dashboard and exhaled. “I kept thinking she and I, maybe . . .” He shook his head. “If she’d have just looked, but hell, no. That que-frigging-sera-sera thing. What’s the point of seeing if you can’t change the big things, the things that matter? I used to think it was me that kept us apart, but it’s not. It’s her. It’s always been her.” This time his fist hit the dashboard with considerably more force than his resting knee had.

“Infinite insight,” I said thoughtfully, “brings only infinite annoyance.”

“So it sucks?”

“Yes, indeed it does.” I put away the knife before I was tempted to follow my brother down the primrose path to automotive destruction. Just as I did, there was a scrabbling at the door to the backseat, and Mickey scrambled in. There was a splatter of wetness as he shook off melting snow, saying immediately, “Give to me. Now.”

Cal passed back a Styrofoam container of the best Thai in the city. “Ah. Is good. Yes, is good.” The pointed muzzle was buried in coconut curry chicken. “You starve me with this work. The park, it is picked clean. Oshossi’s clan, they devour all. No squirrel, no rabbit. Boggles take the one or two revenants left.” Black eyes focused on us both. “Hungry.” The hunger sounded as black and ravenous as the eyes appeared.

“Okay, Jesus. Hold on. I’ve got more.” Cal gave him two more containers, and I think counted his fingers when he drew his hands back. It wasn’t long before Mickey finished and began grooming his hands and whiskers.

“Well?” I tried for patience, but considering the day so far, I don’t think I achieved it. “What of Oshossi?”

“I did not see him. He is not in park that I know, and his creatures? They are not quick to speak to others. Not quick to trust. Even for the handsome and suave such as me.” The five-inch incisors snapped in a rat grin. “But I talk of the city. Of how to get around. The tunnels. The abandoned places. They listen. But they are not like me. They are not so smart; they are only few steps above animals. They are clever in ways of hunt. Very, very clever. But they know few words. Simple.” He yawned, and beside me Cal stifled a gag at the stench of it, rolling down his window a few inches for fresh air. “Finally, finally, they say, Oshossi only comes to park to send them on hunt. Where he is other time, they will not say or do not know.” He looked sleepy now, the gloss of his eyes dulling.

“How many creatures does he have?” I asked.

“Ccoa five, cadejo fifteen, and Gualichu one.” The teeth showed again, not in a grin this time but in fear. “One is enough.”

“Gualichu,” I mused. “That’s a spiritual being per folklore. He has no body. I assumed, then, that he might be a myth.”

“He has body. Very large, like spider with a thousand legs.” The dull eyes sharpened and looked out the window with unease. “We go now. Home.”

“May as well,” Cal grunted. “Looking in the dark for a giant cobra centipede that I can’t even pronounce might not be the brightest of moves.”

“We fight many creatures whose names you can’t pronounce, but point taken.” I started the car. Cal, more lazy than safety conscious, hadn’t bothered to take his seat belt off as we’d sat parked. I began to fasten mine when something landed on the roof of the car, hitting so hard the roof caved inches under the pressure. I let go of the belt and threw myself sideways at Cal as I heard a familiar sound—the sound of metal under tension, a sharp twang. An arrow of black metal as big around as a quarter punched through the roof and impaled the driver’s seat I’d just vacated. Oshossi had gone from machetes to a weapon typical of a hunter. A bow and arrow—the kind that could actually kill cars.

Impressive.

One of the backseat doors was flung open and I saw Mickey slither out and disappear into the white-out with a speed that let me know this wasn’t a setup. He had every fear that one of those arrows could very well be reserved for him. Cal drew his gun as I moved off of him and slid into the backseat to draw my tanto knife.

“Forget Shaft.” Cal aimed up and pulled the trigger of his Glock. Six silencer-muffled shots punctured holes in the ceiling. “I think Oshossi’s got the title of mean motherfucker nailed.”

Too many old movies; too much bad TV—the thought was just forming in my mind as I started out of the car. I didn’t make it. The world was suddenly revolving in an explosion of glass and the scream of metal against asphalt. I hit the ceiling, the backseat, the floor, and when the car came to rest from the rollover, I was halfway between the front and the back.

It wasn’t over. There was a massive force heaving us up and the car flipped end over end. How many times I don’t know. I hit upholstery, a door, and then the back window. I didn’t feel it so much as recognize the crunch of safety glass spiderwebbing.

And I was free. There was no metal or glass, only the fast whirl of a carnival ride. It spun you in circle after circle until there was nothing left but free fall. But falling is never free. It always has its price. If not now then later.

Now . . .

I didn’t know much about now.

There was the smell of snow with a coppery taint. The ground hard and cold under my cheek. The rest of me . . . Was there a rest of me? Hard to say. I could still see. Strange things. A huge metal shape crumpled and compressed against a tree, wheels spinning lazily up at the sky. There was a figure all in black . . . long black coat, black hair, black titanium bow, half a head taller than . . . taller than . . . the other one. The familiar one. Leather jacket, black hair in a ponytail, a gun—a gun that was fired. Soft muffled explosions. Barely audible as the snow crept down thicker and thicker. “You son of a bitch”—savage and hoarse. “You goddamn son of a bitch.”

He staggered under the shots, the first one—who, Shossi? No. Not right. That wasn’t right.

He stumbled but didn’t fall. Instead he turned and vaulted over the car, because it was a car. Mangled, barely recognizable, but a car. There was dark skin, harsh angles and planes like stone, gleaming gold eyes, black hair short and sleek as an animal pelt, and then there was only white as he melted away. Into the storm . . . into the park. Gone.

And the snow kept coming. It was peaceful. Calm. Quiet.

Then there was a cry, distant. A child . . . Cal?

No. Cal was fourteen. Not a child. And Cal was gone. The Auphe had taken him and he was gone, pulled through a hole in the world. But I would wait, because he would come back. He had to come back. They took him right out from under me, and he had to come back. I couldn’t have failed that badly. I was his brother. I was supposed to keep him safe. I . . .

Was that a siren?

But that wasn’t right. The Auphe had burned the trailer to the ground, and the fire department didn’t come. Too far in the woods. No one saw the smoke or flames at night. No one saw Sophia burn like a torch, or her blackened corpse. No one saw because no one cared. It was only Cal and me. Always. Only the two of us all our lives, and he couldn’t be gone.

“Oh, God, Nik. Shit. Oh shit.”

There was a hand under my shoulders and one under my neck turning me carefully from my side to my back. A face swam into my vision. Black hair nearly white with snow, a straight slash of dark brows, gray eyes, pale skin, sharp chin. He looked like . . . someone. A cold hand wiped at my face and came away dripping red. Snow? When had the snow turned red?

“Jesus.” The pale skin went even paler. “Hold still, Cyrano, okay? Don’t move. Let me get them.” There were hands brushing over me, at my ankles, my waist, tugging at cloth. A knife appeared and slid between my chest and a snug band. Something long and stiff was eased from under my back. Suddenly against the white there was gray, a hideously hungry gray.

A hole in the world.

That had just meant something minutes ago, but now the meaning was lost.

The hole was swallowing things now. Guns, knives, leather and metal. And when they were gone the hole swallowed itself. I wished I could’ve swallowed myself too. Out of nowhere, the pain came. My head, it throbbed until I could barely see. But pain was only pain. It could be conquered. It could . . .

Where was Cal?

The sirens were wailing louder. I heard the murmur of distant voices. “It’s a car wreck.” “They’ll never see it.” “Wave them down.” “Where’s the driver?”

“Nik, it’s done, okay? The weapons are gone.” This voice was closer. The black and gray smearing into the white like a melting candle. Cloth wiped my face and then pressed against my temple. It was soft and warm and smelled oddly good . . . like coconut and chicken.

“Thai,” I murmured.

“Yeah, sorry.” A laugh, shaky and determined all at once. “At least it’s clean. I borrowed it from you this morning.” The voice raised, along with others. “Over here!” Then softer. “The ambulance is here now. We’re going to the hospital, okay? The hospital. We were in a wreck, all right? If they ask, we had an accident.”

To the hospital. No. Cal.

“No.” I closed my eyes and the darkness was as peaceful as the snow. “Can’t. Waiting for my brother. They took him.” And I wasn’t leaving until he came back. I wouldn’t leave, I wouldn’t move, I wouldn’t sleep . . . although I was tired.

So tired.

There was a pause, and I felt a grip on my wrist squeezing hard. “Don’t worry. He’s here. He’s back. I promise. You’ll see him at the hospital. I swear. You’ll wake up and he’ll be right there.”

I wanted to believe him. He looked so much like Cal, only older than fourteen, and I wanted to believe. Then I forgot what I wanted to believe. I was waiting for someone, but I forgot who.

Sleep, I just wanted to sleep.

Other voices came. Loud and then fading until I could hear only one. The same one. “I’m right here, Nik. These guys are on our side. Do me a favor and don’t punch any of them out, all right?” Joke, but not a joke. Very much not a joke. Don’t hurt. Don’t kill.

Then the voice disappeared. The hand on my wrist went with it . . . as did the world.

And I disappeared with them.