Storm in a Teacup (35 page)

Ripper's dull black piece-a sits in the Summit parking lot, lit directly by the street light above.

Ben and Ripper patrol together almost every night. How Ripper puts up with Ben is a mystery akin to the appeal of reality television, but he might be my best chance at finding Ben before sunrise. I run back to my car and park it down a closer side street, hoping with each block that Ripper's truck will still be there when I get back.

It is.

A small wooden fence cordons off part of the yard from the parking lot, and I sit down, keeping my eyes trained on Ripper's truck through the gap in the planks.

I only have to wait about twenty minutes.

Ripper leaves the Summit building, talking on his phone. He's not far, and the night is quiet enough for me to make out what he's saying over the grating of cicadas.

"Miller's Field? What do you expect to find out there, Wheedle?"

I tug a piece of grass from the base of the fence and shred it. Luck. I have some after all. He's talking to Ben.

"I'm saying if we're going to patrol, I want to kill something bigger than an imp."

There's another pause, and another blade of grass meets my fingernails.

"If you say so. I'll meet you there in twenty. Gotta get some coffee first."

I don't waste time destroying any more foliage.
 

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Miller's Field isn't a small area, but I know the parts demons are likely to call their stomping grounds. It's only a ten minute drive. If I'm careful, I'll beat both Ben and Ripper to the field. I leave my car parked behind an abandoned barn. An old tractor blocks the view of it from the road.

I'll have to go the rest of the way on foot.

Just a couple weeks ago, I was out here to put down an imp. Now I'm trying to overhear information that will put Mediators in danger.

Maybe I didn't think this through all the way.

Even with the light pollution, the stars shimmer above me like they're a mirage. My feet beat the dirt as I run for the field. I need to sequester myself somewhere. Probably up a tree where the demons Ben and Ripper are hunting won't try to gut me and blow my cover.

Most demons suck at tree climbing.

There are a few old oaks that skirt the field's expanse, and I keep my ears open for any sound of cars as I run. I keep to the shallow ditch on the side of the road, ready to dive onto my face if I hear the whirring engine or tires-scraping-gravel that will signal Ben and Ripper's arrival.

I reach the small dirt parking lot without any person-made sounds intruding over the vibrant bug life of Tennessee.

There's no sign of any demons, either. Which is good, because I only have two foot-long daggers in my sleeves. Killing anything with those'll get messy.

An oak tree on the west side of the field looks like my best option for cover. I scramble up into it, using a large burl for a foothold and pull myself high enough to be covered by the lush, leafy branches.

I try not to think of the six-legged critters I'm likely sharing my perch with.
 

Ten minutes pass.
 

Twenty.

I made it out here. Still no sign of Ben and Ripper, and I'm up a tree trying to dismiss the tickle on my hand as peach fuzz blown about in the light breeze and not a creepy-crawly crawling about.

Twenty-five minutes.
 

The air turns thick and dense. The humidity licks at the back of my neck, sending beads of perspiration slipping down my spine. I'm not imagining it. The heavy buzz in my ears isn't a sound — it's a lack of it.

No more crickets. No cicadas.

There are demons near.

I hug my branch, taking my final chance to shift my weight before losing feeling in my left leg. I hear them before I see them. No pink glow means no jeelings here tonight.

With my view of the field through the oak leaves, I see the grasses bend and sway. It's not windy enough to cause that kind of movement.

A yell rends the silence, and I almost fall out of my tree.

It's Ben.
 

The last time I heard a fight without seeing it was in the warehouse. This time I'm safe in a tree, and my skin ripples with breaking waves of gooseflesh at the hiss of blades leaving scabbards and the heady thuds of steel meeting bodies.

It goes on a very long time. Or at least it sounds like it. I wouldn't know when it was over, except I hear Ripper grunt.

"Guess you were right, Wheedle. Not a bad fight." He coughs, and there's a slapping sound. Ben clapping Ripper on the back?

"Two rakaths. They looked like they were on their way somewhere. Just passing through."

There's no answer, and I can't see their body language from this far away in the dark.

"And you're right about this place. It'll work fine." Ripper's talking again, and I hear a rustle. He must be cleaning his sword.

Fine for what?

"It's open enough that visibility shouldn't be a problem. Will three days be enough?" Ben's talking now.
 

At least they're not heading back to their cars. I never saw their headlights; I ought to have known they'd be smart enough to keep them off. And with the noise of the bugs when I first got here, it's no wonder I didn't hear the vehicles either.

"Three days better be enough. We don't have much time to get this shit settled." There's another pause, and I can picture Ripper's face turning exasperated. "What are you looking at?"

"Wondering if we got them all." Ben's tone is distant, as if he's gazing off into the trees. At, you know. Me.

"I only saw the two."

"Something ran into the woods about a half hour ago. Could've been an imp. Or a shade. I couldn't see where it went though."

"If it was a shade, you'd probably be dead. It's a good thing you didn't go after it."

"Storme took down four of them. I'm sure I could handle one."

"Yeah, well. She's Storme. And she's about to get lynched by Alamea." Ripper's tone starts out proud and sours at the end. "No thanks to you."

"I'm protecting her, man."

Ripper spits. "Tell her that to her face and see what she thinks about it."

Interesting.

"Whatever." Ben sounds moodier than I've ever heard him before. "In three days, all this will be over. There won't be enough shades left to form a basketball team. Come on. Let's hit up the Opry before we call it a night."

Even as he finishes talking, I hear their voices moving off into the night. As soon as they fade enough to make me feel safe, I slither out of the tree. I've got to get out of here before the body pick-up arrives.

I think of Ripper and Ben on my way back to my car.
 

Ripper standing up for me. Who'd've thunk?

If it's all going down in three days, I have a lot to figure out. Like how to not get dead. And how to make sure Miller's Field doesn't get soaked in the blood of two species.

And how to find Alice before she pops.

I swing by Hazel's house again on the way home. No lights. No car in the drive. She's split, and I don't think she'll be coming back any time soon.
 

I return home to find a cabbage-faced witch on my front stoop.
 

"Gryfflet?"

"I've been waiting for you for two hours, Ayala. I thought you weren't supposed to be patrolling." He gets up and stretches, face lumpy and surly.

"Do I look like I've been patrolling?" I pick at the green flannel.

"You look like you've been rolling around in mulch."

Touche. I'm still wearing a bit of oak tree attached to the plaid of the shirt. "Well, I didn't kill anything. What was it you wanted?"

Gryfflet looks around the empty hallway, then pointedly eyeballs the door.
 

I roll my eyes and open it.
 

"Is Mason here?"
 

"He wasn't when I left." And he's still not, judging by the lack of response to his name.

"Do you know where he is?" Gryfflet doesn't take off his shoes as I latch the door. I hope he doesn't think he's walking on my carpet in his clunky combat boots.

"Tahiti. Mars. No clue. Why?"

"I told you I'd wait. I've waited. I need you to tell me why I shouldn't go straight to the Summit."

I lean against the doorway to the kitchen. I'm sick of having conversations in my entryway. "You've got to give me more time. There's a lot more going on here than just Mason."

"You're not wrong. You know Hazel Lottie, that old lady friend of Lena Saturn's? She's missing."

It catches me off guard, and I have to stop the gurgle of a laugh that threatens to boil over. I swallow it and clear my throat. "How did you know?"

"She usually comes into The Hole for happy hour. She hasn't been there the last few days, so I went over to her place. She wasn't there, and there was all sorts of weird energy. Tension, like there'd been some sort of struggle."

Maybe Gryfflet the Witch has more than just a dribble of psychic in his blood.

"Did you go in the guest room at all?" I ask carefully, watching his face for reactions.

By the way his eyes squish up along with his cheeks, I think it's safe to assume he didn't.

"Do you know something?" He looks at me and takes a step forward.
 

I'm no witch, but I'd be stupid not to be afraid of him, even if he has a mushy face.
 

I pull out my phone and open up the photos I took at Hazel's house. "This was in the guest room closet, along with a cell phone belonging to the receptionist of my office who went missing. Box thirty-six contained a wallet for Mae Harrod. Mason's mother. And forty-seven had Lena Saturn's CD."

Gryfflet pages through the photos, his pale hand swiping across the screen from picture to picture. He shows me the smudge. "What's this?"

"Barf."

"What?"

"Vomit. Puke. Chunks. Someone tried to clean it up quickly. I think Alice."

"Is that your receptionist?"

I nod at him and take back the phone. "I didn't do anything to Hazel. But I think she tried to kill me when she gave me that talisman."

If Gryfflet gets any whiter, he'll vanish into the paint on my walls. "She's just an old lady."

"She's an old lady who has personal objects belonging to at least three missing people, two of which are both dead." Now I'm getting angry. I feel the hot emotion swirling in my chest, tightening my ribs together. "I'm not the fucking bad guy here. I didn't kidnap an old lady, and I might have a shade in my house, but he saved my life. Which is more than I can say for my friends at the Summit. They'll kill Mason. And they'll flay me. Don't you dare accuse me of hurting innocents. Mason's an innocent. He has free will. I won't let anyone hurt him, including you."

Gryfflet retreats, hands falling to his sides. He holds my phone against his hip, then pulls it back up in front of him.
 

"Look at the rest," I tell him.

I can tell when he gets to the photo of the drawer of talismans. His mouth snaps shut so quickly that his cheeks jiggle.
 

"I have to go," he says. He presses my phone back into my hand.
 

"Where are you going?"

"I can't tell you." Gryfflet fiddles with the locks and tugs the door open. "Just...Ayala. Take care."

He's gone before I can ask him what he means.