Shimmer: A Novel (32 page)

“I didn’t—”

Ambrose held up a palm to interrupt Logan’s explanation. “Logan had no way of knowing if the bus, one of the bus stops, or the eventual destination of one of the passengers would be the locus of the incident.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Grainger said unapologetically. “I can’t simply wait around to clean up the aftermath of the next incident.”

“Let us handle this,” Gideon said.

“That’s what your brother said,” Grainger countered. “And how did that work out?”

Grainger hadn’t been inside the house five seconds when he noticed Gideon’s missing eye patch. Skimping on details, Thalia explained that she’d healed the eye. Logan took the opportunity to examine the enchanted artificial eye and was amazed at how lifelike it appeared. Its movement and color matched the natural eye. And the pupil contracted or dilated in response to lighting conditions. No physical reason why anyone would think it was artificial. But Logan saw mistrust in Grainger’s eyes, a refusal to take anything they said at face value. Logan figured suspicion was a big part of the job description for anyone in law enforcement.

Gideon frowned. “We have made progress,” he said. “As I explained earlier, Barrett and Liana have crossed over and are working to terminate the problem from that side.”

“And what about our side,” Grainger asked. He turned to Ambrose. “Can you guarantee me there won’t be any more incidents?”

Now Ambrose frowned. “Nobody can make such guarantees.”

“Then I want to know what you people are doing
before
you do it.” He glanced at Logan. “If you get the sudden urge to hop on a bus or call a taxi or see a movie, I want to know about it.”

“Um…okay,” Logan said after catching a slight nod from Ambrose.

“Is your intention to wait for the other two to kill that thing and return?”

“Ideally,” Ambrose said, “but not exclusively.”

“They do know how to return, don’t they?”

“Liana can find her way back,” Thalia said quickly, as if hoping to convince herself. “She can do it.”

A sudden queasiness snaked around Logan’s insides. Though Liana’s rift experience was limited, he never doubted her ability to make crossings. If it had been an issue, he assumed she wouldn’t have volunteered to go in the first place. But she’d left when Thalia was mentally incapacitated. What if she felt she had no choice, that nobody else was available, so she had to make the attempt? When she passed through the rift with Barrett, maybe she saw it as a suicide mission. Was her best case scenario that they would eliminate Carnifex only to spend the rest of their lives on the other side? Had she jumped into a hell dimension expecting to die there no matter the outcome of their confrontation with the Reaper of Flesh?

Chief Grainger cleared his throat. “What’s your backup plan?”

“I was hoping to have a word with Thalia about that,” Ambrose said.

“Rift hunting?” Thalia asked him.

“Yes,” Ambrose said. “Assuming you’re up to the task… that is, after healing Gideon’s eye.” He turned to Grainger and added, “Rift hunting is an exhausting pursuit.”

“I’m sure it is,” Grainger said, struggling to keep skepticism out of his tone.

Ambrose continued to bluff his way through the conversation. Hoping to maintain their autonomy, he couldn’t admit that Thalia’s participation in their strategizing, up until a short while ago, had been less than negligible. At the same time, he wanted to give her an excuse to back out if the sudden burden of responsibility became too much for her. Her lucidity and competence were too fresh for those who had watched her struggle with the most basic tasks for so long to take her recovery for granted.

Thalia nodded with a quick smile, but she had begun to fidget with her paint-spattered smock. The first sign of nerves since her miraculous
return
. “I’m ready to try,” Thalia said, “but, as Ambrose said, there are no guarantees.”

Logan wondered if she was more afraid of failure or success. What would happen to her mind if she actually found the rift? Were they pushing her too close to the source of her fear, the inner darkness that fought to overwhelm her mind? Logan recalled the Nietzsche quote, “When you stare persistently into an abyss, the abyss also stares into you.”

“Do we really need to rush into this?” Logan asked for her benefit.

“Much as I’d like to wait, Logan,” Ambrose said, flicking a quick glance toward Thalia, “with each passing minute it becomes more likely that Liana and Barrett have run into complications.”

He was right, of course. The delay didn’t necessarily mean Liana and Barrett had failed. Injury was a possibility. Liana, inexperienced in rift magic, could be having trouble finding her way home. They might be at a stalemate, waiting for reinforcements. Despite Thalia’s possible fragility, she was cogent and at least some of her magical abilities had returned. What Logan and Fallon knew that Ambrose did not was that Thalia’s clock was ticking. Waiting another day, even several hours, might rob them of Thalia’s participation. They couldn’t rely on Fallon pushing back the darkness again. The darkness might adapt and adjust its defenses, thwarting further attacks. If Thalia was going to lead them to Liana and Barrett, it was literally now or never. “I know,” Logan said softly.

“Good,” Ambrose said. “Logan, I think it best if you took point.”

“But Thalia—”

“I’m quite aware of Thalia’s rift hunting abilities,” Ambrose said, cutting off Logan’s ill-timed attempt at modesty, “but she is a bit, ah, out of practice and you have been in close contact with this particular rift. Your dousing ability could be quite effective.”

“That—that’s an excellent idea,” Thalia said, rubbing her arms as if warding off a chill none of the others felt. “Logan gets us close and I’ll do the rest.”

While she spoke, Ambrose had edged around his desk, positioning himself near Fallon. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear loud enough for Logan to hear, “Will you stay by my granddaughter’s side?”

Without looking at him, Fallon gave a discreet nod.

Ambrose gave her hand a slight squeeze of thanks.

Logan had to wonder if Ambrose suspected Thalia’s condition was deteriorating. Regardless, he couldn’t make that assumption. Before they left the house, he would have to tell Ambrose what Fallon had seen inside Thalia’s mind.

Gideon’s hand fell on Logan’s shoulder. “Logan, could I have a moment?”

Puzzled, Logan said, “Sure.” He turned to Fallon. “You okay here?”

“Fine, thanks,” she said pleasantly without what would have been a giveaway glance at Thalia.

In the hallway, Gideon said, “What was that all about?”

“Booster signal,” Logan said. “Ambrose is counting on Fallon’s abilities to help Thalia.” He almost said more but didn’t want Gideon to lose confidence in Thalia. The last thing Thalia needed was to see doubt in their eyes. With luck, her continued confidence might be enough to keep the darkness at bay until they’d dealt with Carnifex. “Ambrose believes Fallon has that ability, among others.”

“Who am I to argue?” Gideon said, winking his enchanted eye for emphasis. “That young lady certainly has talents.”

Gideon took the stairs two at a time. Logan followed, curious. “What’s this about?”

“Have something for you.”

Gideon led Logan to the guestroom that had become the older man’s bedroom. He tossed his suitcase on the bed, flipped it open, and reached inside a bottom compartment. “If you’re leading us, you shouldn’t be unarmed,” he said. “Take this.”

He handed Logan a red-handled dagger in a black leather scabbard.

Logan popped the snap to free the cross guard, gripped the pommel almost reverently, and slid the blade free. “Is this…?”

“A star-dagger, yes,” Gideon assured him. “Forged from off-world metal.”

Logan ran the tip of his index finger along the edge of the blade, careful not to apply too much pressure. “Cool.”

“It’s yours.”

“Very cool!”

“Yes. But remember one thing…”

“What?”

“It’s not a sword.”

“Obviously, but—wait, what am I missing?”

“If you ever actually need to use that,” Gideon said, “it’s probably too late.”

“Oh,” Logan said softly. “There’s a real buzz kill.”

“Unless…”

“What?”

“The dagger is balanced,” Gideon said, noticed Logan’s frown, and added, “For throwing. Two problems with that. One: it takes a lot of practice to be effective.”

“Okay,” Logan said. “What else?”

Gideon shrugged. “Throwing it means you could be throwing it away. Miss and your enemy may take possession of your weapon. If you wound but don’t kill, the enemy could get away or cross over with your weapon.”

“So use it wisely.”

Gideon ruffled his hair. “Obviously I’m hoping you never need it.”

“Right.”

“But if you’re out there leading the charge, you shouldn’t be defenseless.”

“Gotcha.”

“And just because you possess a weapon, doesn’t mean you’re trained in its use. If you are serious about it, I expect you to train with me.”

“I will,” Logan said. “Definitely.”

“Unfortunately, your training has to wait.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” Gideon said. “Now clip that on your belt and let’s go.”

Despite Ambrose’s impressive powers of persuasion—or dissuasion, in this case—Chief Grainger insisted on accompanying the Walkers on their rift hunt. Grainger drove the police cruiser with Logan in the passenger seat; in back, behind the bulletproof glass partition, sat Gideon, Fallon, and Thalia. When his sister had stepped outside, Logan hung back from the group and caught Ambrose’s arm, whispering the salient details of his conversation with Fallon, that Thalia’s “cure” was a temporary fix and that the darkness would soon reclaim her mind. Ambrose had nodded his understanding. “You were right to tell me, Logan. And to keep this from her, for now. We need her.”

Ambrose, as usual, had stayed behind. His parting words had been for Thalia, in Latin.
“Crede tibi.”
Believe in yourself.

Before they’d left in the cruiser, there had been an awkward moment as Grainger saw Gideon grab his sword and watched Logan loop his belt through his dagger’s scabbard strap. The police chief had frowned but decided not to voice his concerns. Grainger was fighting his own instincts in order to understand and participate in an altogether different type of law enforcement. Logan gave the man credit for his adaptability.

“So how does your mojo work, young man?” Grainger asked Logan. The chief’s right forearm rested comfortably—somehow—over a computer console installed between the two front seats. In fact, the front of the cruiser was so crammed with police equipment that Logan could imagine he was in one of those junkyard crushers that pressed old vehicles into compacted cubes of metal, and that he was moments away from having his flesh and bones squashed into a strange amalgam with metal alloy, vinyl and plastic. Logan had never felt claustrophobic in a car before. First time for everything.

“I don’t know how it works, exactly,” Logan explained.

“In layman’s terms,” Grainger suggested.

“I follow my gut,” Logan said. “If I become nauseous, I’m going the right way.”

“What’s it mean if you actually vomit?”

“That a lot of people will die,” Logan said grimly. “Or sometimes it means that someone is about to die in a particularly gruesome way.”

“But you don’t know who or how or where?”

“By the time I know where it’s going to happen, it’s usually begun.”

“Like with the bus?”

“Right,” Logan said. “But my ability, my dousing talent, led me to that bus and wanted me to get on the bus.”

“So you knew where, but you didn’t know that you knew.”

“Basically.”

Gideon chuckled, leaned forward, and said to Grainger, “You’re starting to understand what it’s like to be a Walker.”

“Confused?”

“Trust your instincts. And don’t ask too many questions,” Gideon said. “Because you might not understand the answers.”

Chief Grainger drove well within the speed limits, crisscrossing the streets and avenues of Hadenford in a seemingly random pattern. Occasionally he would glance at Logan, perhaps checking to see if he had become green around the gills. Now and then he would ask, “Anything?” and Logan would shake his head or respond, “Nothing.” Nightfall elicited yawns from Logan, but no queasiness. He was beginning to suspect the whole idea of a rift hunt had been a waste of time. Grainger would probably suspect they were holding back because of his presence, trying to convince him that he was foolish for wanting to tag along.

Logan tapped his foot nervously. He felt agitated, unsettled, but he couldn’t tie the sensation to anything specific. An unfocused uneasiness lingered within him. He decided to make the best of what looked to be a long evening. With a quick gesture to the crowded backseat, he said to Grainger, “What happens if you have to engage in a high speed chase?”

“Let’s see,” Grainger said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Everyone buckled up back there?” A mini chorus line of nods was the response. “Good. Safety first.”

“Or detain a suspect?”

Grainger nodded thoughtfully, considering the possibility. “You know what? I’ll strap him to the roof.”

“Seriously?”

“Or I could toss him in the trunk. Depends on my mood.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Well, folks might consider me inhumane if I cuffed him to the bumper and dragged him around town until we’re done.”

Logan laughed. But the moment of levity was no cure for his nervousness.

Grainger tapped the police radio. “Actually, I’d call for backup.”

“Right.”

“Before your family arrived,” Grainger said. “This was a quiet and boring town. Who’d have thought it was destined to become the staging ground for Armageddon?”

Gideon said, “Let’s hope that’s an extreme exaggeration, Chief Grainger.”

“Well, what would you call it? Demonic hijinks?”

“More than that,” Gideon said. “But hardly Armageddon.”

“Night ain’t over yet.”

Perhaps hoping to change the subject, Thalia tapped the glass behind Logan and said, “Guess I really am rusty, Logan. Hard time sensing anything. What about you?”