Greywalker

Chapter 10

Screwed, big-time. The car was a blur of headlights in motion toward me, safety just too far away. My fingers, under my jacket, hooked round the pistol grips. I pushed myself sideways, through thickened air… through fear, with a runaway-elevator sensation as I dropped… dropped… and fell… through coiling fog stinking of rot… and landed rolling. A hot gust, like the breath of a monster, blasted into my face and body, shoving against me as the car churned past. Wet gravel slashed my leather jacket, stung my cheek. I dug my toes in and crouched, leveling the pistol. No safe, clear shot. The car fishtailed out of the lot and turned onto the access road. I spun, lunging to my feet, slamming the gun back into the holster, snatching truck keys from my pocket. I dashed to the Rover, fumbled the lock. By the time I was in the driver's seat, the sedan was out of sight… last seen joining the stream of head-lights on Aurora Avenue North.

I yelled and pounded the steering wheel. "Damn it! Damn it!"

I slumped back into the seat, shoved my hand through my hair, and vibrated for a minute or so as the adrenaline dispersed. Then I got back out of the Rover and went to retrieve my bag. I felt like I'd had too much to drink or not enough, shaking a little and shuddery in the knees. I stuffed spilled items into the bag and trudged back to the Rover.

At 7:34, William Novak came out of the warehouse. I was still trying to reengage my brain. He started toward the lonely pickup truck, then changed direction, coming toward me through the drizzle. He tapped on my window.

I rolled the window down and he asked, "Problem?"

"Not now."

"Sure? You've got blood on your cheek."

"Yeah, well. Somebody tried to run me down."

"And that's not a problem?"

"Not at the moment. I'm still alive and he's long gone. But I didn't get the license number. And I really want a drink."

"There's a decent Italian place nearby that's open until ten. They serve drinks, but their bar's the size of a French provincial commode. I was going to get a little supper myself. I'd be glad to take you."

I hesitated. My innards were still jumping in syncopation with my nerves. "What about your youthful assistant?"

"Mikey? He's got some work to do and he knows how to forage. See, there he goes." He pointed toward the warehouse.

A small motorcycle grumbled out from the building's shadow. The slender, helmeted figure on the back waved to us and went slowly out the gate. The machine whining and coughing, the unsteady firefly of the taillight jounced away. We watched it until it vanished into a curve.

"So, you coming with me or you prefer to follow?" Novak asked.

I sighed. "I'll follow."

He grinned. "You shouldn't have any trouble—I give great signal."

I had to roll my eyes. "You'd better."

I followed him around the perimeter of the lake to a scruffy-looking little building just off the lakefront industrial area. The rents are affordable and so was the food. If we leaned our heads a bit, we could still see the lake in all its famous nighttime beauty. The water looked like polished obsidian, reflecting the lights of the city and the boats. I could just glimpse the Space Needle pointing its green-glowing crown at the clouds.

The scent of food reminded me that I hadn't eaten since lunch with RC, and that was mostly coffee.

As soon as we were seated, Novak ordered antipasto and then looked at me for my drink order. "Can I guess?" he asked.

"What I drink? Sure, give it a shot," I allowed, leaning back on the padded bench.

"I'll bet you used to drink white wine, but switched to something more interesting… Scotch?"

I made a face. "Irish. I don't like peat smoke."

He looked at the waitress who had one eyebrow raised and a cynical crook to her mouth. "Bushmills?"

"Double?" she shot back.

I just nodded. Novak ordered a local beer and the waitress stalked off.

He glanced at me and gave an embarrassed smile. "The service here stinks. Luckily you only pay for the food."

"So long as she doesn't put ice in my drink, I don't care."

"She won't—that would be extra effort. Can I ask what happened?"

"Back at the warehouse?" I clarified, and he nodded. "Not much, really. Some jerk tried to run me down. I jumped. He missed. He fled. Pretty much the whole tale."

"Not the first time, I suspect."

"You think weirdos in light-colored sedans chase me down every day of the week?"

"No," he said. "But I also don't think most women wear makeup that looks like bruises, so I'd assume that the marks on your neck and cheek are the real thing. Since you're not wearing a wedding ring, I assume they aren't there because your husband beats you."

"No husband. I can't believe you can still see the bruises."

"Faintly. I thought it was the lighting in the warehouse. Same guy?"

"No." I didn't volunteer any more and turned my eyes to the menu instead. Novak did the same.

The waitress returned and put down our drinks. She nearly spilled Novak's into his lap and gave him a curt little «Sorry» and an insincere hitch of the mouth before she handed me my drink. No ice. We ordered food and I asked where the restroom was.

"I'll show you," she offered.

We were crossing the tiny foyer when she said, "If some guy smacked me around I'd serve him one to the crotch and scram. You don't have to put up with that, you know."

" 'Scuse me?" I asked, catching her arm. "You think that guy back there hit me?"

She faced me square-on and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, look at ya. Face all scraped up, bruises, he bullies you… Think I'm blind? You don't deserve it, you know. Don't have to take it just 'cause he's got the dangly bits and you don't."

"Hold on," I said, digging around in my pockets. I found a business card and handed it to her. "I'm a private investigator. I got these bruises at work. That man had nothing to do with it and if he did, he would be suffering a lot worse than a beer in his lap."

She stared at my card, then peered at my face. "Really? You're not just trying to cover up?"

I nodded. "Really."

Our gazes locked and her mouth formed a little O, but no sound came out. Memories leave a light in the eyes, just as plain as scars.

I shifted expression and smiled. "Now, where's the restroom? I really need to pee." She pointed and I headed for the door.

I looked at my face in the restroom mirror. The bruising wasn't that bad, but I'd acquired a new graze on my left cheek. My jacket was roughed up and stained with mud. My hair stuck out in tufts. I looked like Ophelia three days after the river. No wonder the waitress thought someone had hit me. I'd have been indignant, too, if it happened to be true. I straightened myself up before I headed back to the table, much cleaner and looking a little less like a tragic heroine.

I slipped back into my seat and reached for the plate of appetizers. I snarfed down three in short order and caught Novak grinning at me.

"What?" I demanded.

"I never expect skinny things like you to eat like that."

"It's not every day you cross the line between life and death, you know," I said. "You should dive in. You ordered this stuff and you're not exactly hefty yourself."

"You have a point, Ms. Blaine," he conceded, digging in.

But I had stopped talking or listening. The angle of the car, the speed… it could not have missed me. At the very least it should have clipped my hip, my leg, my foot… I shivered and felt gravity drop out from under me. It had been drizzling thin, wet drops with the brackish smell of the lake. But I had stepped sideways through stinking fog and back into rain. Somehow. Through the Grey to avoid the car.

"You OK?" Novak asked. "You seem to be drifting off."

I shook myself. "I'm fine. Just getting ideas about… various things."

"Work related?"

"Yes."

"Were those bruises work related, too?"

"Yes, but that's not a normal occupational hazard. Most of what I do is pretty low-key paperwork chasing."

"Mind if I ask, anyway?"

I was rattled. With the whiskey and the warm room and a man not hard to look at giving me puppy eyes, the urge to talk was overwhelming. I told him how I got the bruises. He looked horrified.

"And you say that's not an occupational hazard?" he asked.

"I said not a normal one. People go off the deep end sometimes.

"You just push the right button and that's all you get. You must know people like that."

He nodded. "My boss is like that, lately. Irrational about the oddest things."

"Like what?"

"Oh, business things. Doesn't like me to touch things one day, demands that I do all the cataloging, tagging, and hauling the next, while he schmoozes up the clients. Shows up late, then chews me out for taking an extra break. Other days, he just sends me home with no explanation. I've been putting money into the company for a couple of years, but stupid things like this make me wonder if I'm doing the right thing. Are you going to eat that, Ms. Blaine?" he added, pointing his fork at a lonely hors d'oeuvre.

I sat back to allow the waitress to put my dinner in front of me. "Are we still on a formal basis here, Mr. Novak?" Novak stabbed the last antipasto. "Don't we get to graduate to first names once we've shared a drink, salami, and garlic breath?"

He laughed. "On the first date?"

"If you're not prepared for any eventuality, don't take a date to an Italian restaurant. Something about all that marinara sauce and finger food just leads to trouble."

"All right, then—my friends call me Will." He extended his hand to me as if we were meeting for the first time.

I took it. "I'm Harper."

"Funny name."

"My mother has funny ideas. She wanted me to be a dancer or an actress—pushed me into it straight from the cradle. She thought that if I had a movie-star name, I'd have a movie-star life. The road to obscurity is paved with classy names."

"And she named you Harper? Not Marlene or Jean or Rita?"

"Do I look like Rita Moreno?"

"I was thinking of Rita Hayworth."

"I don't look like her, either, but they were both dancers."

"So was Gene Kelly, but you don't look like him, either."

"Thank the gods. He had a cute butt, though." The booze was talking… I hoped.

"Never before have I been envious of Gene Kelly's butt."

I sprayed whiskey, fluffing a laugh, and started to choke. Will reached over and pounded on my back—the advantage to long arms. I managed to swallow and catch my breath. He stayed leaning forward, peering at me with anxiety.

"You OK?"

"Fine. I'm fine. You shouldn't say things like that to a woman with a mouthful of whiskey."

"Yeah, with these rotten candles and the way you spit, we might have set the place on fire."

I broke down, giggling. Shadows and shapes flickered in the corners of the room, but I was laughing too hard to do anything about it, or care.

Will looked mock grave. "I can see that my flirting technique is rusty. I've reduced you to painful laughter and choking. Can you breathe? Are you going to expire? Should I call a doctor?"

"No, no. I'm fine," I gasped. "I'm not even wearing my dinner yet. Everything's fine."

"Good," he said, sitting back. "I'd be embarrassed if you choked to death."

"Imagine how I'd feel."

He looked at me and a wicked grin spread across his face; then he slowly turned red and looked away. "Umm… maybe I'd better not." He got very busy with his dinner and didn't look up to see me

No one had flirted with me—real, serious flirting—in a very long time. Maybe both of us were rusty, but I had to admit, I liked it.

"Another stupid question," he said, watching his knife diligently as he cut through a chicken breast which would have surrendered whorishly to a spoon. "Why private investigator?"

"I'm a mystery freak. And it was as different from my mother's ideas as I could get, which pisses her off to this day. I danced all the way through college to keep her off my back, but I ditched my jazz shoes the minute I had my diploma in my hand."

He looked up. "You entered a potentially dangerous profession to spite your mother?"

"No. But it does have that satisfying side effect," I explained. "I suppose, if I was less of a loner, I might have been a cop. But I'm the solitary puzzle-solver. I don't really care about street patrols and drug busts and gang shootings and traffic duty—all that necessary and cooperative community stuff that cops do. I like figuring out the puzzle. If it's interesting enough, I'll work a problem twenty-four hours a day. I get to exercise my obsessive-compulsive streak that way. Want to guess what my favorite movie is?"

"The Maltese Falcon."

"To Have and Have Not."

"That's not a mystery."

"I know, but I still like it better. I adore Lauren Bacall. Falcon comes in second, though, closely trailed by The Big Sleep."

"Bogart fan, eh?"

"Big-time. Bogey got all the great tough guys," I said. "Who did it better?"

"Jimmy Cagney, Alan Ladd?"

"Both very good, but not Bogart. Did you know Cagney started out as a dancer?"

"Yes. So did George Raft."

I stared at him.

He shrugged. "I like old movies, old things. That's how I got into the antique business. Sometimes I think I can hear them talking to me." He blushed. "Too much imagination, I'm sure."

"Better than not enough, in my book."

He shrugged, changed the subject, and we finished dinner talking about old furniture and old movies. I didn't want to leave, but I could barely keep my eyes open. He smiled and walked me to the Rover and watched me go. I was glad I would see him the next day. But the warmth of his company didn't stop me from driving home paranoid.

Nothing happened. The drive was ordinary, and the condo and Chaos were waiting in good order. I flopped down on the couch and called the Danzigers.

Ben answered.

"I know I'm calling pretty late, but I have a question."

"It's not too late yet. What do you need to know?" His voice moved away from the phone. "Hang on." I heard him call for Mara. I heard another phone click and clatter.

"Well… tonight a car tried to run me down. I jumped out of the way and fell pretty hard. I was OK, but there is no way the car could have missed me. The space was too narrow and the car was moving too fast for me to clear the area. It was drizzling. But when I was trying to get out of the car's way, I was in mist. That Grey mist. And then I was in here rain again. And the car hadn't clipped me. So, what the hell happened?"

Ben's voice sounded excited. "Wow… for a second, you must have seemed to flicker or even disappear, I think. Oh, that must have scared the driver!"

The ferret scrambled into my lap and tried to steal the phone. I put her on the floor. "I can only hope. You're saying I disappeared?"

"Not completely. You're a physical being and the Grey is an overlap zone, remember? For a moment, you were basically in both places, switching energy states."

I barked over his enthusiasm. "But how? I don't understand how I can be in two places at once or how I get there. I didn't do anything but try to run away!"

Ben fell silent. Mara slipped into the hole in the conversation. "It's the nature of Greywalkers to move through the Grey, which, as I said, is a bit here and a bit there. But as to how you did it without meaning to, I'm thinking that your mind whizzed through the possibilities and latched on to this one."

"You opened a door and went through it. You've done it before, but you never did it voluntarily until now. Now that you know you can do it, you did," Ben added.

Mara resumed. "True. But it worries me that it wasn't conscious. This time it was a good choice, but it might not be so safe next time. You're not hurt, are you?"

"Only where I hit the gravel. And why didn't I get hurt worse?"

"I'm not quite certain. You got off lightly, though. You'll need to be controlling it. You can't go blindly popping in and out of the Grey, or being dragged in and out higgledy-piggledy. Something worse than a car might be on the other side."

I didn't respond. I picked up Chaos and teased her with my fingers.

Ben broke first. "Harper, even if you can't quite buy it, at least try to play along, just in case."

Chaos scampered away to wreak havoc elsewhere. My fingers weren't interesting when they stopped fluttering. "What if you're wrong?"

"If we're wrong, you're no worse off. If we're right, then things get better. It's not surgery. And if you didn't think we might be right, why did you call?"

I loosened my shoulders. "What do you suggest that I do?"

"Let Mara help you. I'll get off the phone so you two can work it out."

I could hear Mara hesitating. "It isn't all that hard, really…"

"Yeah. Well. Let's try it."

"All right. You'll need to recognize the barriers of the Grey first. We can try a concentration exercise to narrow your focus. Ever done any yoga?"

I felt a little silly admitting to it. "A little meditation breathing."

"Then you'll be having no problem. It's a bit like mindful breathing. So sit and breathe like that, then remember the sensations you had just before you crossed to the Grey. They're the clues. When you can recognize the barrier and re-create the sensations at will, you should be able to open a doorway and just step across. Or not. As you wish. Shall we give it a whirl?"

"Hang on." I got comfortable, taking off my shoes and sitting on the couch with a pillow in the small of my back. "OK. Now what?"

"Just breathe and feel. When you have the balance of it, then try re-creating the sensations of the Grey. Then open your eyes and try to spot it. Then close them and push the barrier away again. I'll be right here, on the phone, until you've done."

It had been a while. I put the phone on the couch beside me. I closed my eyes and tried to narrow my concentration to one small part of my body, until I was no longer aware of any other part. That went all right. I started clearing my thoughts, putting away every thought and feeling I didn't need this moment, breathing, reaching for poise.

When I felt empty and balanced on that point, I turned my concentration to the feeling of falling through the thick, stinking air, the Seattle mist dissolving from my face, giving way to the Grey. I opened my eyes and looked straight ahead, searching for the overlap of worlds.

It looked like a curtain of clouds and mist—literally gray, the intersection of the ordinary with the extraordinary rippled with an energy Jitter that sparkled like fat raindrops falling in fog.

I dosed my eyes again and pushed the sensation away. It resisted at first and I started to pant; then I calmed down and tried again. The vertigo, the smell and the chill receded. I opened my eyes to my plain old living room.

I picked up the phone. "It worked."

"Wonderful! Now again. But this time, go in."

"No!"

"It won't harm you. It's you who must be controlling it, not the other way about. Just open the door, step in, then turn round and step out. Then push it away and we're done. You'll be feeling much better for it. I'm sure of it."

I wasn't. But I tried. I sat up, relaxed, mindful, feeling for the barrier. I floated and felt warm. I opened my eyes and it was there again. I rose and walked toward it, stroking my right hand over the small warmth in my left. The interface got thinner as I moved forward, becoming insubstantial as smoke. I stepped through into the living fog of the Grey.

It surged and pressed on me. My stomach pitched and twisted like spaghetti around a twirling fork. I breathed deep and held on tight. Chaos gave an angry chuckle.

I looked at my hands and the Grey writhed around me. I was holding on to the ferret. She must have crawled into my lap again. I cursed. The ground? the floor? bucked, and I looked around, on the edge of panic. No sign of the big ugly this time, nor of the strange human/not human creature that had spoken to me before. This time, I was alone in the restless mirror-steam mist.

"Slow and easy," I muttered and took a couple of steadying breaths, which did little to steady me. I was queasy with trepidation as well as from the whiff of rot. "OK. OK, little fuzzy, let's get out of here."

I turned around, looking for the edge of the curtain, but couldn't detect it. I couldn't see my living room from here at all, yet I knew here was there, too. I was tired, frightened, and I just wanted out. I was losing concentration, panting. Unthinking, I squeezed the ferret and she screeched, chittering and wriggling.

I felt a breeze, a rippling of the Grey around me. I thought I could see the Grey edge. Close, and very thin. I started for it, then felt a dread cold sweep me, like a wind coming up on the Sound with a noise of storms: cold with an old chill that cuts like glass. I twisted around trying to escape the wind. The edge of the Grey fluttered an arm's length away. Chaos chittered again and dove into my shirt. The weight of something dark and furious was massing behind me.

I lunged forward, thrashing for the edge. The roiling black beast struck me in the back and shook me. Chaos screamed. I yelled and leapt as hard as I could. Something rigid and cold scraped across my flesh as I dove away…

and then I was tumbling onto the living room rug. Exhausted tears streamed down my face as I reached for the ferret, rolling onto my back. Chaos struggled out of my shirt and bolted for her cage. I looked back, ready to grab on to whatever might pursue me. There was nothing to see, nothing to smell. Just the living room like it always was and me lying on the floor, panting.

I rolled slowly to my knees and knelt. My chest ached.

Mara was shouting my name on the phone, a tiny tinny voice of terror. I snatched the phone and yelled into it, "Goddamn it! Something tried to eat me in there! I couldn't get out! It was going to eat me!"

"Harper! Harper. Harper. It's all right, you're out. You're out and you're alive. It's all right." She babbled at me until I stopped freaking. Then she asked me what happened and I told her.

"Oh, my. It wasn't going to eat you. It just wanted to push you out of its territory. Look, you'd better stop by tomorrow and we can discuss this. We'll need to be working out a way for you to protect yourself."

"What is that thing?"

"A guardian beast. But never mind it now. It's gone. You're OK. You got distracted and things went to Halifax, but you did well. Really. You did marvelous. Are you hurt any? Is your pet all right?"

I looked down at myself, feeling weak and stupid. My torso was covered in slime. I crawled to the cage and checked on the ferret. She gave me a dirty look and then snuggled down deeper in her nest of old T-shirts, not deigning to spare me another glance. Fine. I closed the cage door and crawled back to the phone.

"Some kind of slime all over me.»

"Heavens! That's unusual."

"I didn't want to hear that."

"Come for breakfast tomorrow. We'll have to talk. Now you need to rest. Sleep is the best cure."

"All right. All right." I hung up. Shaking, I crept to the bathroom. I loathed the feel of my skin where the slime touched me. Even exhausted, I couldn't face sleeping in that feeling. I peeled off my gooey shirt.

As I turned my back to the mirror, I noticed the redness: a large semicircle of small punctures, starting into shallow scrapes across my right side. It looked like an unsuccessful bite by a very large animal with needle teeth. I shuddered at the thought of legions of hungry Grey things, waiting to rend me. Tears of frustration and fear scalded under my eyelids. I wanted to give up and hide.

"Stop that," I gulped. I glared at myself in the mirror. "You can't quit," I hissed. "You can't quit." A lot of ugly memories crashed past my mental eye. I had no choices and no place to retreat to. There was no place to hide from a creature who stalked the edges of death itself. I would have to learn my way around it, and I would have to watch my back.