J.L. Doty - Dead Among Us 01 - When Dead Ain’t Dead Enough (23 page)

The young Russian groaned and spit blood on the floor. “He’s a fucking demon. Conklin’s a fucking demon.”

Belinda watched the Druid enter the warehouse, then sensed what she thought was a feeding. For a moment she thought her master might’ve decided to intervene personally, but then she realized it hadn’t felt exactly like a demon feeding, and on retrospect she couldn’t identify exactly what it had been.

About ten minutes later she saw the young man step out onto the sidewalk, a gun in his right hand, a bundle tucked under his left armpit. He scanned the street cautiously, then tucked the gun into the bundle and walked down the street hurriedly. There was no sign of the Druid so she followed him.

Chapter 15: False Rescue

Devoe picked up McGowan at his home and drove them to the meeting with Karpov. The Russian owned a long-term parking lot near San Francisco International, a large open stretch of tarmac that, at this time of night, was all but deserted.

Devoe pulled up to the entrance of the parking lot, where a middle-aged fellow sat in a kiosk reading a newspaper. He glanced away from his newspaper, stared at them for several seconds, then spoke with some sort of accent that wasn’t Russian. “You don’t need a ticket.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Far southeast corner.”

Devoe pulled the sedan forward carefully, turned south down a long row of parked cars, kept his speed down to about five miles per hour. About half way down the row of parking spaces the cars began to thin out, and by the time they reached the end of the row there were no cars around them, just open tarmac. About a hundred yards in the distance a car’s lights flashed repeatedly.

They crossed the distance slowly, Devoe keeping the car’s speed down all the way. He stopped the car about twenty paces from two black sedans parked alone near a chain-link fence topped by razor wire.

“Wait here,” McGowan said. “Keep the headlights on my back and if I scratch my cheek then please join me.”

McGowan climbed out of Devoe’s car, closed the door carefully and started forward at an easy walk. He stopped half way to the two black sedans and waited patiently.

The headlights on both sedans suddenly flared to life with a blinding glare. McGowan couldn’t see past them, but he heard more than one car door open and close. Then Karpov walked forward, flanked by three of his goons. Vladimir was there, and it bothered McGowan that Alexei was absent.

“Valter,” Karpov said. “It’s always good to see you.”

Karpov liked playing his games when he had the upper hand, but McGowan wasn’t going to play along. He was careful to speak softly. “Where’s my daughter?”

“She’s completely unharmed, Valter. And I’m sure we can come to some accommodation. I’m sure there—”

McGowan used the wizard’s voice. He spoke in a faint whisper, but to everyone there it was almost a shout. “No accommodation. You have my daughter, and you have no right to hold her.”

Karpov spread his hands. “Valter, Valter, Valter! You  . . .”

McGowan stopped listening and reached up casually to scratch his cheek. A second later he heard a car door behind him slam shut. That was followed by calm measured footsteps as Devoe crossed the distance between them and Karpov’s voice slowly dwindled to a stop. Devoe stopped beside McGowan, and while he wasn’t armed in any obvious way, he wore a windbreaker that could conceal anything. A couple of Karpov’s thugs shifted nervously from one foot to the other, and Vladimir started to reach into his coat.

Karpov reached up and put a hand on the ugly blonde’s wrist, stopping him cold. The older man snarled something angrily in Russian, and Vladimir lowered an empty hand to his side.

McGowan spoke carefully. “Clark and I are not here to play games. I want my daughter, now.”

Karpov stared at him for a long moment, then slowly raised a hand into the beam of the headlights above his head and gestured forward with a few fingers, though his eyes never left McGowan’s. McGowan heard a car door open and close, and he heard Katherine snarl, “Get your hands off me, you pig.”

When she stepped up beside Karpov, one of his thugs was holding both her arms tightly behind her back. McGowan waited. Again he and Karpov stared at each other for several seconds. Then Karpov said something in Russian to the thug and he released Katherine. She yanked her arms away from him and marched toward McGowan. As she did so Devoe stepped several paces to the side to insure a clean line of fire past her.

When Katherine reached McGowan she snarled, “They’ve got Paul. And they’ve already beat him up and they’re probably going to kill him.”

McGowan looked past her at Karpov. “So, Vasily, you lied to me about the young man.”

Karpov grinned. “You’ve got your daughter, old man. Be content with that.”

McGowan nodded and said, “Fair enough.”

“No,” Katherine shouted. “We can’t abandon Paul like that.”

McGowan gripped her upper arm, gripped it almost painfully and started marching her toward Devoe’s car. She protested loudly, but he had to keep up the ruse. “Conklin’s not worth it. We’re going home and he’ll have to take care of himself.”

She spit and cursed and snarled all the way to the car, continued snarling as he shoved her into the passenger seat and climbed into the driver’s seat next to her. He’d drive, leaving Devoe free to cover their backside as they drove away.

When the doors of the sedan were closed, when he’d turned the car about and hit the accelerator, only then did he shout, “God damn it, where the hell do you think Colleen is?”

That shut her up, and for the first time, she glanced around and took a head count. Then her eyes brightened. “Of course, you sent Colleen to rescue him.”

She lurched across the seat and wrapped her arms around him. She jogged his arm and the car swerved wildly. He barely missed taking out the kiosk at the parking lot’s entrance as she gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “Father, I’ll never doubt you again, you sneaky son-of-a-bitch.”

Paul jogged for six blocks in a diagonal zigzag pattern along streets all but deserted. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the warehouse when Karpov returned. Any time a car’s headlights lit up the street he halted and stepped into the shadows of an alley or doorway. Better paranoid than dead.

A large jet passed overhead flying low and accelerating hard for takeoff. That meant he was somewhere north of the airport, probably in South San Francisco. He still had his wallet and some cash so he could hail a cab, if he could find one, which was unlikely in this neighborhood at this time of night. He decided to head for the South San Francisco BART station instead, and started jogging north.

Belinda found it easy to follow the young man. When he ran she couldn’t keep up and he opened the distance between them. But he stopped to hide from every car that came down the street, whereas she had her spells to keep her hidden. So each time he hid she caught up with him easily. And as she followed him she began formulating a plan.

He was clearly attracted to the Old Wizard’s daughter. The girl was certainly beautiful, and it was human nature to be attracted to someone who saved your life. And there was no doubt he wanted guidance from someone experienced in the arcane arts. And now he’d been cut off from all that, so she decided to give him another beautiful woman who saved his life, another powerful witch who could share his danger, someone to guide him, to help him navigate this strange, new, frightening world into which he’d been thrust. It might take a spell or two, but amazingly enough he was completely unprotected, no wards, no spells, not even a rudimentary awareness of such. She had a nice little spell that would draw his attention to her, though not in an overt or obvious fashion, but it would provide the emotional attraction she’d need. As to physical attraction, she could provide that without resorting to witchcraft.

She had another spell to disarm any native skepticism he might harbor for a stranger who approached him. She’d also prepared a powerful illusion that would provide the excuse for them to meet, and for her to be his rescuer. And finally there was the obsession spell that would create in him a need for her, and bring him to her bed willingly, almost desperately. It was a subtle spell that would build on the initial attraction of the other spells. Not too much at first, but it would grow and eventually ensnare him so deeply he’d willingly surrender to her, and then to her master when the time came.

At that time of night there weren’t that many people waiting for a train in the South San Francisco BART Station. Other than Paul there was a bum, a couple of kids with an overabundance of piercings that couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and an older, gray-haired woman. If Karpov returned to his warehouse, made an educated guess and sent his goons to check out nearby BART stations, there’d be no hiding from them. Paul’s paranoia shifted into overdrive as he waited for the train; he was watching everyone suspiciously, even the old woman, constantly scanning every entrance or approach to the train platform. But even if he’d been half asleep he couldn’t have missed the goddess that came down the escalator.

She had dark olive skin, almond shaped brown eyes and full red lips set in an oval face with high cheekbones. She’d fashioned her black hair in a tightly curled style of wild disarray that cascaded down past her shoulders. Medium height, she wore a classic tan-colored trench coat, unbuttoned and open in the front because the night air held no chill. Beneath the trench coat she wore a dress that might be dark blue silk, or some other material with a shimmery quality to it. The dress was cut just above her knees, and her long legs ended in black, medium-height high heels. She showed a little cleavage like most young woman, and there wasn’t a man in the world who wouldn’t appreciate her physical charms. Certainly she was beautiful, but there was nothing overtly unusual about her appearance, nothing to draw a man’s attention in so compelling a fashion. And that made her even more attractive, sensual rather than sexual, for had she looked like some stripper or porn queen, it would’ve cheapened the effect.

Even the boy with the piercings had stopped molesting his girlfriend to stare at the new arrival. His girlfriend turned to see what had drawn his attention, stared for a few seconds at the goddess, then shoved him away angrily.

The goddess stepped off the escalator, stepped to the same side of the platform as Paul and waited patiently for the train. From South San Francisco there was only one train going into the city. When it arrived she got into the same car as Paul, and sat down a few seats from him in one of the seats facing the rear of the train, facing Paul. She pulled out a magazine and began reading.

Paul had decided to hide out for a few days at his parent’s place in Castro Valley. He’d spent so little time there it was probably still safe, and he had most of his special ammunition stashed there, though he’d have to change trains somewhere in the city.

The train would get into the downtown area in a little less than half an hour. Paul’s seat had him facing forward toward the goddess, and he was careful not to stare. She looked up once from her magazine and their eyes met. She gave him a shy little smile and returned her attention to the magazine.

A few minutes later she looked up again, and again their eyes met. If she’d given him another shy little smile it would’ve been a bit of innocent flirtation. And while a hint of smile did cross her lips, it quickly turned into a frown, cancelling any flirtatiousness in the look she gave him. She glanced about the car almost suspiciously, as if to reassure herself there was no danger present, then she lowered her eyes back to her magazine. It had been the oddest look. Something had bothered her, though apparently not something about Paul, but rather something nearby.

Before they got into the city she glanced up three more times, and each time her frown deepened as she looked about the car. It began to bother Paul so he scanned the car quickly, but other than the two of them it was empty. And then he realized he’d become overly paranoid, and he was acting like an idiot. So he turned and focused on his reflection in the window.

The tunnel through which the train sped was dark, with an occasional dim light at random intervals. Paul got a vague impression of pipes and conduit racing past behind his reflection, but it was hard to focus on anything but his own image. And while, in one short week, so much else had changed, the fellow he saw reflected in the window looked to be the same man he’d seen in the mirror every day, though he did look like he’d been in a nasty fight, and lost. Then his image shifted and Suzanna appeared in the window. She shook her head and said,
Be careful, Paul. She’s dangerous.

The only woman in his life right now besides Suzanna was Katherine. Did she mean Katherine? Katherine wasn’t dangerous. Well, yes, she was quite dangerous, if she wasn’t on your side. She was a witch, and he’d seen her do a couple of scary things. But dangerous, in a way that would lead Suzanna to warn him about her?

He looked into Suzanna’s eyes, and was about to ask her if she meant Katherine, when her face began to twist and swirl. He’d seen it before in his apartment when his own image in the mirror had morphed into the bat-like monster. But this time it happened so fast it caught him totally unprepared. The black snout, goat-slitted eyes and pointed, leathery ears formed in an instant. Paul jerked back from the window, but wasn’t fast enough to evade the clawed hand that reached out from the window and gripped his throat.

As the monster struggled to claw its way out of the window Paul desperately searched the seat behind him with his hands, trying to find the bundled towel in which he’d hidden his gun. And then suddenly a small, delicate, olive-skinned hand, with fingernails painted dark blue, gripped the monster’s wrist.

A female voice shouted, “Be gone, servant of the nether life. I banish you back the darkness.” And where her hand gripped the monster’s wrist, a thunderclap of an explosion erupted, knocking Paul on his ass into the aisle between seats. It had felt not too different from one of Joe Stalin’s open-handed slaps. Paul knew he needed to get up, to run, but all he could do was sit there while his head spun crazily.

“Are you ok? I’m sorry. There was no time to protect you.”