Child of Fire (24 page)

“A couple years back after school ended. My wife has never been happy here, so I bought her a place up there. Everyone is transitioning nicely.”

“Why do they live so far from you?” I asked. I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

He scratched at his chin. “They have a good school district there.” He shuffled some papers on his desk. “I want my kids to grow up in the best environment possible.”

I leaned forward. A dangerous spark of anger had caught in my belly. “Cabot, you want to know what you should never do? You should never lie to me. Especially when I have this gun in my pocket.”

He blinked a couple of times. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This town. This fucked-up town,”
I mimicked. “Charles the Third has his first seizure, that you know of, in what—April? May? And a couple weeks later you ship your kids to the other side of the mountain.”

“Well—”

“While your company is gasping for its last breath.”

“Okay—”

“You bought your wife a little place on Whidbey Island, where the real estate costs—”

“All right! All right! That’s not the whole story.”

“Tell me the whole story.”

I could see that he wanted to tell me to get lost. He glanced at the pocket of my jacket. I still had the gun, and I had slugged him unconscious once already. “It’s for their own safety,” he said. “I have enemies in town—”

I slammed my hand down on his desk and jumped from the chair. I stood over him, and he stared up at me with wide, startled deer’s eyes.

I could see it in those eyes. He knew about the kids. He knew about the fires. He remembered them.

Two years it had been going on, and he hadn’t done a thing except move his own family to a safe place.

“I think …” I didn’t know what I was going to say. It was like I had another person inside me, making all my decisions for me. “I think I’m going to kill you.”

“What?” His eyes grew wider.

“I’ve got the gun. I’ll lay the newspaper in front of you and put a bullet into your head. Everyone will think it was suicide.”

“Now, wait a minute—”

“You wait a minute. You’re spreading bullshit like it’s sweet butter, and you think I should sit here and gulp it down?”

He lunged for me. I punched him in the throat.

He fell back against his chair, choking and gasping for air. I could have killed him with that punch, but I’d pulled back at the last moment. Had I pulled back enough, though?

“Don’t—” Cabot wheezed at me. I figured that if he could talk, he would live. I was a little disappointed.

“That’s just the start of what I’m going to do to you if you lie to me again.” Cabot looked up at me and I saw it in his face. He was ready to tell me everything. “Tell me about the kids.”

“There …” His voice was hoarse. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “There isn’t much to tell.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“One day, my youngest came home early from school crying. She said that one of the kids in her class caught fire and burned to death, right before her eyes. This was the middle of May.” He paused to rub his throat and take another deep breath. “I thought she was playing a game, but she insisted it was true. Her friend Carrie had caught fire while sitting at her desk.

“I went to her teacher and spoke with her in the classroom. One of the desks in the back of the room was scorched black, and there was a black trail leading out of the room and down the hall. The teacher acted like she couldn’t see the scorch mark. She claimed that the desk had been empty all year long, and that there was no student named Carrie in her class.

“I’d met Carrie. She’d come over for playdates. There was a drawing on the wall signed with her name, in scrawling Crayola letters. The teacher couldn’t see the black marks, couldn’t see the drawing, and didn’t remember the little girl.

“I thought she was crazy. I went to the school board, but they told me the same things the teacher had, and asked me if I had seen a doctor lately.

“Well, I went to Carrie’s house to speak to her parents. Neither one of them could remember their own daughter. It was as though I’d had this memory of a little girl with bobbed red hair inserted into my brain. And my daughter’s brain, too.

“It wasn’t the last time it happened. Two weeks later, my kids started telling me that their friends were
disappearing, and no one remembered them. Finally, I brought my lunch to the school and sat in my car, watching the playground. In the week I sat there, I saw two kids burn up. The other kids would freak out when it started, and then, when it was over, go back to playing as if nothing had happened.”

“What about the worms?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what they are, or what they mean. But I was freaking out, so I sent my wife and kids away, hoping they’d be safe. So far, they are.”

“Are you so sure about that? What if you had five kids before, but you just can’t remember one?”

“Do you think I haven’t thought about that? But I’m sure. I’m sure.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “That’s it? That’s all you did about those kids? You talked to a couple people?”

“That’s all I could do! I talked to Emmett and Frank and Reverend Wilson. They looked at me like I was losing my mind. My kids were getting into fights in school because people thought we were going nuts. All we could do was to wait for it to blow over. What else was I supposed to do?”

Something
, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue. “And you swear you don’t know anything about those worms?”

“Nothing. I don’t know what they are. How do you know about this? Everyone else forgets all this.”

I wished Annalise had left me her scrap of wood. I would have liked to know if Cabot was infected, enchanted, or brain-damaged like Harlan. “Stand up.”

He pushed his chair back and stood.

“Empty your pockets.”

He began to turn them out, dumping everything inside them onto the desktop. Wallet, key ring, gas receipt, bottle opener … all very bland and boring. But none of it looked like magic to me.

I leveled the gun on him. “Strip,” I said. “Start with the shirt.”

He started to grumble, but he did it. He unbuttoned his shirt and hung it over the back of the chair. As he turned, I saw a tattoo on his back.

“Hold it,” I said. I turned him toward me. Well, well. There, tattooed on his back, was an iron gate. It was identical to mine.

“Where did you get this?” I asked.

“My father put it there when I was a baby. He put it onto all my kids, too, before he died.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s supposed to be some kind of good luck. It bugs me sometimes, though.”

I thought about the twinge I’d felt outside the building just a couple of minutes ago. “When does it bug you?”

“Every couple of days, I guess. It feels like someone pokes it with a stick or something.”

“Did it bug you when you saw that little kid catch fire?”

“Well …” He hesitated. I knew he was going to lay out another lie. “It’s possible, I guess. I don’t remember.”

“What about when Charles had his seizure?”

“How long is this conversation going to take?”

“We’re getting to the important stuff right now. What about Charles?”

“Nothing that I remember.” If he was lying, he was getting better at it.

“Where’s the book?”

“What book?”

“The book!
The
book!”

“I don’t know what book you’re talking about!”

I shoved him over the desk and slammed his head against the blotter. He started to resist, but I placed the barrel of the gun against the back of his head. I hoped no one was going to walk in at that moment.

“Please!” he said. “You’re not really going to do it, are you? You’re not really going to kill me?”

“What do you think about all those burned-up kids?”

“I think it’s horrible. I have nightmares—”

“But not so horrible that you kept trying to stop it.”

“What was I supposed to do? People thought I was crazy! I’m a Hammer—I can’t be the town joke!”

That was almost it. That last sentence almost made me squeeze the trigger. I wasn’t even angry anymore. I just felt cold and bitter. Cabot seemed like a dirty little mess that needed to be wiped up. All I had to do was squeeze the trigger.

“Please,” he said simply.

I pulled him off the desk and shoved him into the chair. “You have a chance to live, if you really want it.” “I want it! I do!” “We’ll see. Where’s the book?” “I don’t know about any book! I swear!” He made it sound like the truth, but I wasn’t convinced. “Wrong answer. Let me explain something, Cabot. I’m here to put a stop to these fires, and I don’t care who I have to step on to do it. If you’re not going to answer, you’re in my way.”

“But I really don’t know. I swear.” “Tell me about your father and the thing he put on your back.”

“I was just a baby! I don’t remember that!” “What about your own kids? You weren’t a baby then, were you?”

“He took each of them for one night. He sent Carla and me away. In the morning, they had this mark on their backs. Carla didn’t like it, but I told her to stuff it. It’s family tradition, and I was afraid we wouldn’t get a penny out of him otherwise.”

“What about the Dubois brothers?”

“What about them? They certainly don’t have any book. I’m not even sure they can read.”

This was getting nowhere. I took the ghost knife from my pocket.

“What are you doing?” Cabot asked.

“Hold still.” I slid the ghost knife through Cabot’s arm. He collapsed, struck the wooden floor hard, and began whimpering. Then he curled up into a ball.

“Please,” he said in a half-choked whimper. “Please please please please.”

I’d seen the ghost knife take away people’s vitality and hostility, but I’d never seen a reaction like this. I’d meant to make Cabot more docile to get honest answers out of him. Instead, I’d cut away his bravery and uncapped his fear. I’d broken him.

The ghost knife was a spell I’d cast. My first. It was a part of me, and there was still a lot I didn’t understand about it.

“The book. Who has it?”

“I don’t know! I swear I swear I swear I swear—”

“Enough.” He shut up.

What was I going to do with this guy? He’d recover if I left him, but was I allowed to leave him? What if he was also carrying a predator, like Emmett Dubois? What about his iron gate?

I didn’t know what Annalise would do with him if she caught him. I didn’t know if carrying a spell, even one he didn’t cast himself, was reason enough to murder him. If it was, his whole family would die, too.

Could I do that? Could I tell Annalise about Cabot’s iron gate, and the iron gates on his kids, knowing it meant she might hunt them down and kill them? Hell, she might make me kill them, as a kind of initiation.

Or should I keep my mouth shut, let them walk away, and betray Annalise again?

I looked down at Cabot. He didn’t look dangerous, but I couldn’t leave that spell active. What if Annalise laid her scrap of wood on him? I reached down and slid the ghost knife through the iron gate.

The mark burst in a shower of black steam. Cabot bucked, kicking the desk. Papers fluttered to the floor.

I felt something go out of him as the spell came apart. It was like a third person in the room had walked out and I hadn’t noticed its presence until it was gone.

Cabot moaned and wept, laying his face against the floor. He looked miserable and pathetic, but I wasn’t done with him yet. I had to make sure he didn’t have any more spells on him.

I pocketed the gun and dragged him out from behind the desk. He didn’t resist. I wasn’t sure he could resist, even if he’d had the guts for it. All he did was cover his face with his hands and plead in a voice so small that I couldn’t make out anything he said.

There were guys I’d met in prison who would have gone stiff as a rod to see a man break down that way, but it made me feel queasy. Still, I had to be sure there were no more spells on him. Annalise would want to know.

I rolled him over. I slid the ghost knife through the top front of his pants, cutting the belt and zipper wide open. Then I grabbed his pant cuffs and pulled.

I
really
hoped no one would walk in on us now.

I studied him long enough to confirm that there were no other marks on him. I kicked his pants to him.

“Humiliating, isn’t it?” I said. “Some guys would be so furious at being treated like this that they’d get themselves a gun and come after me for revenge. Don’t be that stupid. Understand?” He nodded. “I want a couple things. First, tell me where the book is. And don’t lie. If you lie, I’ll know.”

“I swear,” he said in a pathetic voice. “Please, I swear I would never lie to you. I don’t know. Maybe Cynthia has it—”

“Second, keep away from Cynthia.”

Cabot shut up and nodded. His eyes were as big as saucers.

“Third, you aren’t protected anymore. I don’t know when the next kid is going to die, but I do know you’re going to start forgetting them soon. Maybe you’ll be happy to forget. But don’t forget this: I don’t want to see you again.

“Last, get out of town. Don’t go back to your apartment. Just get in your car and go to Whidbey. Tomorrow, go see a lawyer, but to night go be with your kids. You may still end up dead or in prison, but at least you’ll get to see them.”

That was it. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I couldn’t look at what I’d done to him. I backed away, quickly scanning the room. I didn’t want to leave anything behind. I didn’t want to come back here ever again.

I walked to the stairs and went down. They creaked and groaned. I could hear Cabot behind me, quietly weeping to himself. The ghost knife had destroyed him in a way I’d never seen before. I took it out and looked at it in the semidarkness of the stairs. I could feel the power in it, and I could feel that power was partly mine, but only partly. How would it feel to have the spells on my body destroyed?

More important, what would Annalise think of what I’d done? We were here to destroy predators and steal spell books. Spells were too powerful to circulate out in the world. The scorched black earth all over Hammer Bay was proof enough of that.