Living with the Dead

HOPE

Hope sat at a diner window, watching the front door of another restaurant across the road. Robyn was inside, having lunch and waiting for Adele Morrissey. They'd considered having her sit at the window, but given that Adele had no compunctions about shooting people in broad daylight, it seemed unwise to tempt her.

Robyn had a new prepaid cell and a panic button. Karl had miraculously produced the button last night, saying he'd like Hope to start carrying it. With that, she knew that even before last night he hadn't been underestimating the danger she faced.

Karl must have taken the button and receiver last year, when he'd had Benicio Cortez supply it for a job they'd been working. He'd kept it all this time, even bringing it to Los Angeles, where she'd expected to do nothing more dangerous than her regular job. In other words, he'd been waiting for the excuse to pull it out and say, "I think you should carry this."

He shouldn't need an excuse. But he wasn't wrong to think he did, at least not if he expected her to give in without a fight.

If it made him feel better, she'd start carrying it. Time for her to grow up and realize no matter how hard she trained, there would be some situations she couldn't handle alone.

For now, though, Robyn had the panic button and she'd taken it without question, accepting that this was not something she could handle on her own. So now Hope sat at a diner table, cell phone out in case Robyn called, panic button receiver on her lap. Karl was outside, scouting the perimeter while making a phone call. When he returned, Hope asked, "What did Jeremy say?"

"He's going to give it some thought."

She picked a bacon bit from her uneaten salad, hearing her mother sigh about table manners. "You told Jeremy that she suspects what you are, but we haven't confirmed it, right?"

"Yes."

"I know Pack Law says any human who learns the truth has to be – "

"That's not going to happen, Hope. Jeremy wouldn't consider that unless Robyn did something stupid."

"Like stealing tissue samples from you and selling them on eBay?"

"Which we both know would never enter her mind. She's nothing if not trustworthy."

The knot in Hope's stomach eased. The Law had always seemed reasonable. The Pack was very careful. Even if someone spotted them as wolves, they'd mistake them for very large dogs, so the chance of anyone accidentally discovering their secret was next to none. So if the Pack had to very, very rarely kill a person to protect themselves and, by extension, the supernatural world, it was a small price to pay. But if that "threat" was her friend, a reasonable rule suddenly became barbaric.

"Do you think I'd let them do that?" Karl asked after a moment.

"It's Pack Law."

"The Law can go to hell, and if Jeremy ordered me to do it, I'd tell him he could follow."

She wasn't sure she liked that answer much better. The Pack was supposed to be a werewolf's first loyalty. After a lifetime as a lone wolf, Karl had trouble with that, and it worried her.

He caught her gaze, misreading her lowered eyes. "I wouldn't do that to you, Hope."

She picked another bacon bit from under a salad leaf.

"As I said, though, it isn't an issue. Jeremy understands the circumstances and that it wasn't anyone's fault, including Robyn's. Moreover, if we avoid answering questions, it'll only make her more curious. He suggested we don't hold things back – just slow her down, giving her time to take it in and decide whether she really wants to spend her life seeing new threats in every dark alley and wooded path."

Hope's cell phone rang. She checked the display. "Lucas."

Karl took it. Earlier he'd asked Paige to look up a number from Grant Gilchrist's cell phone, which he'd taken last night. Robyn said someone had called Gilchrist and it sounded like the other person had set him on her trail. They'd tried calling the number – the only one in the call list – to find it disconnected.

"Prepaid cell phones," he said as he hung up. "Both Gilchrist's cell and the number he called."

Hope looked out at the street. "We've had her in there almost ninety minutes. Much longer and if Adele does show up, she might realize it's a trap. Time to move on."

How do you catch someone who is watching your every move? Let her watch.

If Adele wanted Robyn, then they'd give her Robyn. Maybe she'd realized it was a trap. Or maybe after that long night, she was sleeping. They were counting on the latter. They moved Robyn to location two: a big-box bookstore that encouraged browsing, where she wouldn't look out of place.

As for the chance that a concerned citizen would recognize her from Friday's paper, she'd been wandering around L.A. for three days, and no one seemed to notice. It was a big anonymous city. Robyn was young, blond and attractive. Los Angeles was full of younger, blonder and more attractive women.

Their new choice came with an even better surveillance location – a coffee shop on the second floor, overlooking the first, where Robyn sat. They'd been there just long enough to buy coffees when Karl said, "We're being followed."

When Hope looked up, he shook his head and touched the side of his nose, meaning he'd smelled someone, not seen him.

"Someone from the diner?" she asked.

"No, from when I was circling the block. I noticed it then because the scent seemed vaguely familiar. Now I've picked it up again, so it's not likely a coincidence."

"You said it seemed familiar…"

He nodded. "I'm still trying to figure out from where. It's nobody I know – likely just a scent I've crossed."

In other words, someone may have been following them for a while. Not a werewolf, though – Karl would have mentioned that. Hope put out her own feelers, presuming anyone following them would be a supernatural, but she didn't detect anything.

"I don't think he's up here," Karl said. "I just caught a note of scent. I'm going to scout downstairs."

He left and she continued watching, her attention divided between the front doors and Robyn, who'd settled in with a history book, seated beside a sign announcing an author signing and giving the store branch name.

There was no sign of Adele. Earlier, when Robyn mentioned that Adele provided photos for True News, Hope had contacted her editor. It turned out they did have a phone number for Adele. Paige was running it now, but tracking its origins was turning out to be an ordeal. Whoever Adele was, she'd covered her tracks well.

Hope's cell phone vibrated against the table. Probably Detective Findlay. He'd left five messages. The last one mentioned a death at the fair. She'd paid attention only long enough to hear that the victim wasn't Gilchrist or Adele but an elderly lady. He hadn't given any other details, telling her to look it up in the morning paper.

A threat. Hope understood that as clearly as if he'd said: "Here's another one I can pin on your friend." He'd known Robyn had been at the fair last night. In fact, she wouldn't put it past the Nast Cabal to manufacture another murder, just to hammer Robyn's coffin shut.

But when she checked the caller ID, it wasn't the detective.

"Behind you there's a hall," Karl said when she answered. "Down it you'll find bathrooms and a handicap elevator. Take that elevator to the first floor. Then head right, along the wall, into the children's section. He's in the stacks there. See if you can pick up any vibes."

"Got it." She stood. "What does he look like?"

"No idea. I can smell him, but I don't dare get close enough for a look. From where I am, if I step out, he'll see me."

"It's a man, then?"

Karl confirmed that. Hope found the elevator where he said it would be. She presumed he wanted her to take it so if their pursuer was watching her, he'd think she'd just gone to the bathroom.

At the far side of the children's section, she thumbed through a Disney book. The vision came quickly, blurred at first, like viewing it through a greasy lens. She saw… someone standing at a bookshelf?

Damn it. A chaos vision. She shook her head sharply to clear it, startling a preteen girl reading beside her. It was like shaking a snow globe, though – the image obscured for only a moment, then settled back. Someone at a bookshelf. What kind of chaos event was that? She barely had time to wonder before the picture flipped like a slide show, moving to a man walking past a bank of tables. He was just as blurred as the woman, but she recognized him by his stride. Karl.

The image flipped again. The woman. She could make out a long ponytail of black curls falling over a denim jacket. Hope groaned. Really, she should be able to recognize herself a little faster than that, even if she didn't often see her back angle. The picture returned to Karl, now leafing through a book on a table.

Why was Hope seeing them?

She remembered that night at Bane, catching blurred and disjointed images of Portia Kane and other club-goers. She'd told Karl later she was certain it was the "signature" vision for a supernatural, but had no idea what kind.

Clairvoyants.

Instead of a static signature image, Hope briefly saw what they were seeing with their powers.

The image switched to a third. Another woman, this one with light hair, sitting beside a sign. Robyn.

Hope spun so fast she dropped her book and startled the girl beside her again. She murmured an apology as she hurried past. Her fingers were already hitting her cell phone speed dial, her gaze scanning the aisle, straining to see around the end before she reached it. She got there just as Karl answered.

She stopped abruptly, closing her eyes to vision-check before leaning out.

"Hope?" he said when she didn't speak.

"Just a sec," she whispered.

When no vision came, she peered around the shelves. Robyn still sat where they'd left her, no sign of Adele nearby.

"She's here," she said. "Adele."

"Where?"

"I have no idea. I just caught a – " She glanced around, making sure no one was listening in. " – a vision."

"Okay, I'm coming around the – "

"I see you."

He was across the store, near the row of cashiers. Robyn was twenty feet away, close enough that he could get to her in a sprint. They held their positions, looking, listening, smelling, sensing.

"No sign," he said.

"Same here."

"Head toward the front doors. I'll cover you. I'll circle around Robyn and see if I can flush Adele out. If she comes your way, let her leave. We want – "

"To get her outside. I know."

Hope stepped from her hiding spot, phone still at her ear as she scouted for Adele. As she cut across to the front doors, she picked up the vibes again, telling her a supernatural was close. Then the vision sparked again, the same flipping of scenes, from her to Karl to Robyn.

She slowed and looked around. To her left, a young Latina pushed a stroller. To her right, a knot of girls whispered about a boy she couldn't see. Just ahead, an elderly man perused the True Crime display. Beside him, another man talked to an employee.

Lots of people. None could pass for Adele Morrissey.

She took another three steps. The vision returned, looping through again, strong as ever.

"Hope?" Karl said.

It took her a moment to respond, having forgotten she was still on the phone.

"Just… sensing," she said.

"I can see you."

"Anyone else?"

"Not Adele, but perhaps that's not who you're sensing. Robyn did say she thought Adele might have a male partner, the one she saw at the undercover officer's house. And the person following us was definitely male, likely supernatural…"

Another clairvoyant? They were one of the rarest races, but clairvoyance was hereditary.

The vibes told her whoever she'd detected was very close. But the only men she could see were the elderly one and the one talking to the clerk. Not to downplay the ability of the elderly, but this guy, despite his interest in crime, was clearly getting his thrills vicariously. He had to be eighty, and leaned on a walker, and while she knew that would make a great disguise, she could pick up mild chaos vibes from chronic pain and depression, and that couldn't be faked.

The guy talking to the store clerk was rapt in his conversation, paying no attention to his surroundings, open to attack. All no-no's in the evil-spy handbook.

But because he was the only apparent possibility for those clairvoyant vibes, Hope took a closer look. He was midthirties, slightly under average height.

He looked like a high school gym teacher. Maybe it was his outfit – jeans, a rugby shirt and ball cap, a team jacket on his arm. Maybe it was his build, his shirt sleeves pushed up to show lean athletic muscular forearms. The clerk seemed to think he was good-looking, ignoring the toe-tapping customer awaiting her turn.

Could he be Adele's partner? Maybe her lover? He was almost twice her age, but Hope knew that didn't mean anything.

"There's a guy here," she whispered into the phone. "Ball cap, dark green shirt…"

"I see him."

"Does he look familiar?"

Karl paused. "No, but I see someone behind him who does."

Before she could ask "Who?" a figure stepped from behind a display.

"Is that who I think it is?" Karl asked.

It was.