Angel Town (11 page)

It was a great plan. It might even have worked.

The kitchen wasn’t quite in an uproar. Still, Theron had wisely taken himself off somewhere, probably to the greenhouse.

Weres don’t like conflict.

Galina stood near the butcher-block island, her hands up, glancing from one end of the room to the other like a tennis spectator. Saul, near the door to the hall with his arms folded and legs spread, actually
scowled
at my fellow hunter. “You’re not. And that’s
final
.”

“I am not even going to—” Anya halted, glancing at me as I appeared in the doorway. A curious look spread over her face, and she dug in a right-hand pocket, still frowning at me. She fished out, of all things, a pager, and glanced at it.

That’s right. I was dead, so she took over the messaging service. Either that or it was transferred to hers. I wonder if Monty moans at her about replacement costs, too.

“Montaigne,” she said, flatly, and I almost started. “
Shit.
” She stalked for the phone by the end of the counter, and Galina’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Hey.” Saul’s arms loosened. The circles under his eyes were fading, and I wondered how long it would be before Galina started feeding him, too. He was still too damn thin. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” I did what I should have done in the first place—reached out, touched his bony shoulder. Fever heat bled through his T-shirt, and I reeled him in. He came willingly enough, and when I closed my arms around him he let out a shuddering sigh. He’s taller than me, but his head came down to rest on my shoulder, his entire body sagging, and I held him. Slid my fingers through his hair, and I was still stronger than even a strictly human hunter. Because he leaned into me, and I held him with no trouble, just a little awkwardness.

“You don’t even smell the same,” he murmured. “But it’s you. It
is
.”

Was he trying to convince himself? My heart squeezed down on itself, hard. What could I say?
It
is
me, don’t worry
? That was ridiculous, and a lie, too.

I wasn’t sure just who I was, right now. And even though I didn’t want him to worry, there wasn’t a hell of a lot else he could do.

And really, it was time to worry. It was time to worry a
lot
.

“It’s me,” Devi said into the phone. A long pause, and the tinny scratch of another voice over a phone line brushed at the tense silence. If I concentrated, I could hear it more clearly.

I didn’t. I stroked the rough silk of Saul’s hair. “It’s okay,” I whispered, and the sheets of energy cloaking Galina’s walls lightened.

Go figure. For once, I was being soothing. Should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

“Really.” Devi tapped her fingers on the counter, once. Frustration or impatience or habit, I couldn’t tell. “Okay. Tell Eva to keep them away from that place, have her hold Sullivan and Creary there so we can question them. Do
not
let them go any closer to that—yeah, okay, I know you know. And relax. I’ve got good news for once.”

Another short pause, then a jagged little laugh. “Very good news, Monty. Keep your hat on and have faith. We’re on our way.”

Faith? That’s not anything I’d ever say, Devi.
Sullivan and Creary—that would be Sull and the Badger, homicide detectives. Eva was one of the regular exorcists working Santa Luz’s nightside, handling standard cases and calling me in for anything out of the ordinary.

Devi smacked the phone down like it had personally offended her. “Galina? I need an ammo refill. And some grenades.”

“Got it.” Galina sounded relieved to be given something to
do
. The herbs in the bay window breathed out spice, basking in a flood of sunlight that was no longer pale and brittle with winter. She took off at a dead run, her slippers whisking the wooden floor as the house settled with an audible thump. Her robes swished lightly.

Anya’s attention turning to me was a physical weight. “Jill?”

Saul stiffened, but I kept stroking his hair. “That was Monty.”

“It was. Saddle up, change of plans.”

“Good deal.” I tried not to feel relieved, failed miserably. “What’s boiling over now?”

“Missing rookie cop. Vanner. Something about him being at a crime site and going shocky-weird?” Anya’s tone was light, but the inside of my head clicked and shifted.

I let Saul draw away. “Vanner. I remember him.”
Called him Jughead. Was always running across weird scenes.
“Where did they find him?”

“Eva brought him in a week after you disappeared. He was up at New Hill—”

I blinked.
Goddammit.
“What was wrong with him?”

“Catatonic. I gave him a looksee, but there was nothing we could do. They kept him in one of the barred rooms at the Hill; two days ago he vanished.”

Jesus.
A chill walked down my spine. Vanishing from a barred room at New Hill is a Houdini act and a half. The last I’d seen of Vanner, he’d been in shock, in the back of an ambulance, after seeing me fight hellbreed-controlled corpses. “Vanished. Out of a barred room. Okay.”

Anya nodded, the beads in her hair clicking as braids fell forward. “Well, Creary found him. She called in Eva, and as soon as that Faberge-painting bitch showed up, the rookie made a beeline for guess where.”

“Where?” But a sick feeling began under my breastbone, a spot of heat like acid reflux.

I had the idea that I already knew where Jughead Vanner was going. It made a sick kind of sense, like cases start to do once they heat up.

Anya’s mouth drew down at both corners. “Where else? Henderson Hill. The
old
one.”

I couldn’t even feel good about guessing right. Of course. Of
course
it had to be the one place a regular exorcist—and many nightsiders—wouldn’t go. A psychic whirlpool of agony, fear, and degradation, especially since the great demonic outbreak of 1929, when the inmates had ceased being prey for sadistic jailors and turned into a buffet for Hell’s escaped scions.

Ever since ’29 hunters have been not just mostly outnumbered. We’d been outright fighting a losing battle, for all that we give it everything we have—and everything we can beg, borrow, steal, multiply, murder, liberate, or otherwise get our hands on.

It is not enough.

And what the hell was Vanner doing heading for that place?

Anya watched me, very carefully. Like I should know something else.

I kept my hands away from the gun butts with an effort. My face was a mask. I
did
know something else about that place. Or, more precisely, there was someone I suspected I’d find at Henderson Hill. Someone I wanted to talk to.

If he would talk. If I could
make
him talk.

So I ignored the tiny chills walking all over me. “Let’s go.”

“Not without me.” Saul’s hands actually turned into fists, his shoulders squared as if he expected round however-many-they-were-at-now.

I reached, once again, for diplomacy. It was a goddamn miracle. “It’d be nice if I could go with Devi to watch my back, and you stay here and fuel up. I can pretty much tell you’re not going to go for that.”

I was right. Again. When I didn’t want to be.

“What part of
everywhere
do you not understand?” The question was mild enough, but his hands curled into fists again, and weariness swamped me.

The old me would have argued, or at least given it the old college try. He was safest here in Sanctuary…but he’d been taken from the street right outside. I remembered
that
. I remembered Galina telling me to calm down when I found out, up in the greenhouse. I remembered burning rubber out to the Monde, and something there waiting for me. Something huge, a thing I bumped up against the edges of, my brain shying away like a skittish horse. The black cloth bulging over that memory was wearing thin, little bits peeking out through its moth-eaten, merciful darkness.

Right now he’s safer right where you can see him, Jill. So you can make sure nothing happens to him. Or you can kill whatever touches him.

With this amount of ammo and my knives securely strapped in, not to mention the creaking-new bullwhip, it sounded doable. More than doable.

It sounded good.

And if it saved me from descending into the chaos of
between
to look directly at whatever had happened to turn my memory into Swiss cheese and kill me, then bring me back…well. Maybe I was a coward for feeling relieved, but it was getting to where I didn’t care as much as I should.

“Fine.” I didn’t recognize my own voice. “Get ready, then. You’d better go armed.”

O
ut of the four of them, Eva took it best when we showed up. Sullivan went even paler than usual, only his receding coppery hair under his bleached-out Stetson showing any color. His thin hands twisted together, and he drew himself up and back into the inadequate shade provided by a warehouse’s side as if I might not notice him if he hid well enough.

Montaigne, in an ill-fitting sports jacket despite the heat, stared. His bulldog jaw dropped, and he hadn’t shaved in a while. Cigar smoke drifted across his scent, and the tang of whiskey. There were bags big enough to carry a week’s worth of luggage under his eyes.

The Badger was actually in a tank top and jeans, the white streak at her temple glowing and her round, pale face sweating. She is, like some heavy people, astonishingly light on her feet, and many a perp has been surprised when he thinks the rotund little lady cop’s the easiest one to escape or overwhelm. She acquired her nickname even before her streak began, working a downtown beat and quietly, in her own unassuming way, taking absolutely no shit from anyone. Right now she stared, and I had the uncomfortable idea that coming back from the dead is not guaranteed to keep you any friends.

Eva, slim and dark, hopped down from the hood of Avery’s Jeep and strode toward us. She gave Devi a brief nod, looked curiously at Saul, and swept her long hair back over her shoulder.

Devi contented herself with nodding back, for once, and moved over into the shade. Sullivan let out a sound that might’ve been an undignified
eep
, quickly turned into a cough.

“Nice to see you.” Eva blinked under the assault of sunshine, wiping her fingers on her jeans. “Christ.”

Thanks. I was dead.
I didn’t glance back at the truck, where Saul leaned against the hood. The silver in his hair was bright starring, and he munched slowly on an energy bar while his eyes took in the street in controlled arcs. “Vanner. He was catatonic the whole time?”

“About as long as you’ve been AWOL, sweets. Ave and the boys will be happy you’ve shown up.”

“You still dating Avery?”

She shrugged, and a small smile lifted the corners of her cheerleader-pretty mouth. And she apparently got the message, because she glanced away up the hill. “Sometimes I let him think so.”

Even in the sun, you could feel a suggestion of a chill draft. She was right at the edge of the Hill’s etheric shadow, and the only surprise about that was how far the stagnant bruising in the fabric of reality had spread.

Should really do something about that.
But what was there to do? Banefire might burn the whole place to the ground and leave a blessing in its wake…but that amount of bane might turn into just-plain-fire at the edges, and with the slumped warehouses and converted offices hunching around here, we could be looking at a huge burnout.

Before, the scar would have provided me with hellfire. But hellfire around this sort of stagnation and misery would just drive the scar in deeper.

And with all the Hill’s accumulating force to fuel it, it would spread even further. No, hellfire was
so
not a good idea.

“Good deal. So, yeah. How did Vanner present?”

All the amusement fell away. “Catatonic. Both me and Devi scanned him, he was…inert. In every possible way. I checked him weekly over at New Henderson Hill.” She glanced up the street and actually shivered, her tiny gold-ball earrings winking before disappearing behind her hair and her safari jacket rippling. “Now?” Her shoulders hunched. “I think something’s riding him.”

“Possessor?” It was a risk, but they didn’t usually go for men. Well, it was about 60–40 in favor of females. But Possessors favored morbidly religious middle-class shut-ins, not reasonably irreligious rookie cops locked up in asylums.

Still, anything’s possible, and he’d gone shocky after brushing up against the nightside. And even before that, Vanner had shown up at a fair number of odd homicide or burglary scenes, crimes with a nightside connection.

We’d even joked about it. Or at least, Badge and Sully had.

Eva shrugged. “I don’t know how he would’ve caught one, and there’s no marks. He disappeared from New Hill two days ago, hasn’t slept or eaten that I can tell. Slippery little fuck, whatever it is, but altogether too active to be a Possessor. Plus, it doesn’t
smell
right.”

Out of the four regular exorcists, Ave comes closest to being a hunter candidate through sheer adrenaline-junkie insanity. It’s Eva who comes closest through cool calculation and the tendency to be three or four steps ahead of everyone else.

They make a good pair. I was actually hoping Avery wouldn’t let her slip through his fingers the way he usually lets women go.

“So. Smart, mobile, smells different than a Possessor…” I tapped at a gun butt. “All right. You can take the cops and head out as soon as Devi’s done. And
be nice
.”

She spread her hands, a plain silver band on her left index finger flashing. “Bitch is the one with the problem, Jill. Not me. Can I just register how happy I am to see you?”

Likewise. If you only knew.
“Duly noted. Hey, how have cases been lately?”

“Hopping. We’re all working for the cops now, not just Ave, and on shift so we can get some sleep. It’s never been this bad.” And there it was, printed all over her dusky, weary face. The transparent, slightly squeamish relief you see when you show up to handle the weird so people can go back to Happy Meals and vodka tonics. Or what passes for normal to an exorcist. They’re good souls, fighting the good fight, and some of them could almost be hunters.

But not quite.

“No worries. We’re on it.” I restrained the urge to clap her on the shoulder. Eva most definitely did
not
like to be touched. I wondered how Avery managed it.

“Yeah, well, it’s been getting progressively worse the longer
she’s
been here. I mean, she handles it, Jill. But she’s not you.”

Oh, for Chrissake.
“She’s a hunter, Eva. Come on. I want to talk to the cops and then send you guys home. Monty’s not sleeping again, is he.”

“Murder rate’s spiked. The media’s blaming it on the heat, but…” Another shrug, her hands spreading. “Not just murder but all sorts of fun. Rape, arson, assault, and enough weird to make it feel like thirteen o’clock all day. We’ve gotten to the point where even triage isn’t helping.”

“Well, fuck. Come on.” It looked like whatever case had shot me in the head and left me out in the desert wasn’t over. I half-turned, glanced at the deserted street. Something was troubling my city. Of course the legions of Hell flood in when a hunter goes missing. We’re barely enough to stem the tide as it is.

But this was exceptional. And when the exceptional shows up, a hunter gets nervous.

Saul had gone still, looking the same direction I was, the empty wrapper closed in his fist. I headed for the knot of cops, my trench flapping a little and Eva drifting reluctantly in my wake.

“It’s about goddamn time,” Montaigne greeted me. He coughed, and it had a deep rasp to it I didn’t like. “Where have you
been
?”

“Dead, Monty. You want to keep asking questions like that, or you want to tell me what you’ve got?”

“Hi, Jill.” Badge folded her ample arms over her equally ample bosom. She blinked, as if dazed. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” I glanced at Sullivan, who visibly flinched. It wasn’t like him. Of course, he would probably have been an accountant if he wasn’t a cop; he had a feel for the nitpicky detail and he liked things neat. That was his trouble—he liked everything all
explained
. “Vanner?”

“He’s…” It was Badge’s turn to glance around uncomfortably. Neither of the guys gave her a hand. “He’s changed, Jill. He’s scrambling around on all fours, but it’s definitely him. Fast, too. Guerrero here says we’re not supposed to get any closer to the old Hill.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. You know the drill.” Everything clicked into place. This situation, at least, I knew how to handle. “Relax, boys and girls. Kismet’s on the job.”

“Thank fucking God.” Monty muttered. “I suppose you need another pager, too.”

“It wouldn’t hurt. But I’ll be with Devi, just buzz her for the time being.”

He hunched his wide shoulders. “Fine. Jesus H. Menace to property.”

Well, that was good. If Monty was bitching about property, he was relatively okay.

“I haven’t blown anything up yet today, Montaigne. Give it a rest.”
But you should’ve seen me the other night. I busted up the Monde but good.
Another chill walked up my back. The gem rang softly, like a crystal wineglass stroked by a delicate, damp fingertip.

Devi was staring down the street as well. She’d gone completely still. “Jill?”

“Let’s roll. Go home, everyone. Good work.”

“I suppose I can’t tell you to be gentle,” Badger called after us.

She probably
had
to say it. She is, after all, a mother.

The county put up a concrete wall around the old Hill after the Carolyn Sparks episode. Which was a reasonable response, given that that had involved a Major Abyssal, an untrained psychic, and a string of murders that made even a seasoned hunter blanch. I’ve seen the file—even with only black-and-white photos it’s enough to give you nightmares.

Someone even occasionally tries to put a fresh padlock on the front gate. Come nightfall, however, the padlock is always busted wide open, shrapnel scattered in a wide arc, and the iron gates stand open just a little.

Inviting.

The gravel drive inside the gate was moving. Little bits of it popped up and turned over with an insectile clicking, as if the whole expanse thought it was popcorn while it’s still just bursting sporadically. Before the big explosion.

I cocked my head and stared, one hand loosely on a knife hilt. It was, I suppose, a hunter’s equivalent of a nervous tic. “Jesus,” I breathed.

Anya laughed, a jagged, brittle sound. The gravel settled down, little gray stones twitching in the sunlight. “Thank God dusk is a ways off.”

“Look.” Saul pointed. Scuff marks on the scattered ground, and smears of something on the gate itself. My eyes narrowed, and I didn’t need to get any closer to tell that the stains were fresh, and crimson.

Anya and I both drew our right-hand guns, a weirdly synchronized motion. We could’ve been on the stage.

“Take point.” Anya indicated the gates. “I’ll follow in three. Were?”

“I’m a tracker.” Saul crouched fluidly, the fringe on his suede jacket fluttering. It almost hurt me to see how it hung on him; he was so thin. “I’ll be fine. This is just like spot-jumping scurfholes on the Rez.”

I blew out a short breath. “Okay. Give me three, Anya, then come in. Give
her
three, Saul, then you come in. If something’s going to go wrong, it’ll go in the first few seconds. Christ, I’ve never seen it so bad here.”

“You sure about that?” But Devi, tight-lipped, just shook her bead-weighted hair with a heavy chiming when I glanced over. “We’re burning daylight. Do it.”

Still, I took another few precious seconds to study the gates. Wrought iron, quivering just slightly, and the gravel moving uneasily behind them. It shouldn’t have been this bad.

Something happened here. Something fed the Hill. Shit.
Inhale, exhale, watching the gates with their seaweed drifting, just a little bit too quickly to be the wind moving them, just a little too slow to be anything else.

Some hunters say it’s not the big weird that wallops you the hardest. It’s the just-slightly-off, the subtly wrong. Because it echoes inside your head and builds until you want to scream. I’ve lost civilians to both. Some people crack just seeing a body-modded Trader. Some go screamingly, eye-clawingly, gratefully insane when faced with something that breaks all their base-level assumptions about how the world works.

Still others take the whole enchilada, seem okay, then walk home and ventilate themselves.

You just can’t ever tell. You can only visit the grave afterward and feel the horrific tightness in your chest that means you didn’t do a good enough job protecting them.

Personally I think both the big and the little weird are hideous, and depending on when they hit, they can take the legs right out from under a normal person. Even a hunter gets a chill now and again. We’re trained, and we’re ready, but nobody is ever
really
ready for the weird all the time.

At least a hunter has an explanation, and a job to do.

The gates clanged wide, my boots hitting them squarely, and I landed on popping, pinging gravel. Little chunks of stone rose, whirling, and my aura fluoresced into the visible, hard little sea-urchin spikes tipped with points of light. That shell flexed, a sphere of normalcy asserting itself, and a tide of whisper-screams rose around me. My hair lifted on a not-quite breeze, and my left eye turned dry and itchy, untangling tricks of perception and snarled etheric strings. The lines quivered, and I could almost-See the passage of
something else
through here recently. More spots and spatters of blood. Someone was moving fast.

Well, at least we had a trail. And for a hunter, blood’s as good as neon arrows.

The buffeting increased, but I had my feet planted, and the gem gave another high clear hard ringing all through my bones. I
pushed
, bearing down as if I was ripping a Possessor out of a hapless victim inch by inch.

Most often, they code and you have to jump-start their hearts and get them to a hospital. It’s a tremendous psychic shock—all your mental cupboards torn open, furniture hacked apart, windows smashed, the Possessor digging in with its little claws, woven into mental architecture over weeks or months of dedicated pawing and fingering.

Pushing
, pressure mounting behind my eyes, hearing the snap of a leather coat as Devi landed, the Hill rousing itself like a sleepy beast. An almost-physical click as the compression vanished, it was work not to stagger. My left hand was a fist, cramping, I shook my fingers out.