Living with the Dead

HOPE

A block away, Rhys had parked a nondescript car with local plates. In the car, he efficiently tended Hope's wounds, then managed to pick up the Cabal tail while looking like he was trying to avoid it. Independent operative, hired gun, mercenary… whatever Rhys called himself, he was adept at it, which was good because as a clairvoyant, he sucked.

Hope gave him props for admitting it. In the supernatural world, the strength of your powers is like intelligence level for humans. Everyone lets on they have it in spades, if only as untapped potential. Saying your powers are weak is as tough as admitting you're not too bright.

When he tried to check on Karl, he couldn't pick up anything, which suggested Karl was still unconscious. He did get a brief flash of Robyn. She seemed to be sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance. There was a man with her. From the description, it was Detective Findlay.

After talking to Sean, Hope was sure Findlay had nothing to do with the Cabal. The fact that he'd waltzed through their office doors meant he was either one hell of a ballsy necromancer or he didn't know what the Nast Corporation was. But she hadn't had a chance to tell Robyn that. If she was with the paramedics, though, she must have realized that whatever Findlay was, she was safe for now.

For now, Robyn did seem safe, and Hope had to leave it at that, because after a brief snapshot of Robyn, Rhys's mental camera screen went blank. Not so much a substandard model, then, as a battery hog, needing plenty of downtime between shots.

They were being tracked by two vehicles – a black car and a van, which were taking turns in the tailing position. Rhys wasn't fooled.

"Are you sure Karl is in that van?" Hope asked.

"Positive."

"But if you can't see him…"

"He is. Relax, Hope."

"I'm being sensible, not sensitive. There's no shortage of vehicles at a Cabal. Why not exchange that van for another, take Karl back and get him locked up before he wakes?"

"Because they're waiting for him to wake up. Irving isn't particularly bright, but he is resourceful. If I take off on foot and his guys lose me, he has a werewolf."

"For tracking."

"Presumably the original plan was to take you as a hostage and force Karl to help."

"But now you have me, and that works just as well, as motivations go."

A moment of silence, then, "Check out the van behind us. Can you tell me what he's doing wrong?"

One might think a mercenary would jealously guard his knowledge, but Rhys spent the next ten minutes teaching her how to spot, lose and be a tail. In part, Hope was sure it was a distraction from thoughts of his son, but she also got the sense he liked to teach. So she shut up and absorbed.

Or she did until, in the distance, she saw the big-box bookstore from earlier.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Back to those medical offices where Colm – Where you were earlier."

It was a moment before she managed a cautious, "Why?"

"I need a quiet place to take care of the Cabal team."

"By taking care of them, you mean…"

"I have tranquilizer guns in the trunk."

She hoped her sigh of relief wasn't too loud.

He went on. "The problem with stopping to do that is that I need an empty place where, logically, I might go before heading to the kumpania. Irving will be wondering why I grabbed you. Going here will answer his question."

Hope was about to ask how. Then the vision replayed – the boy running off the edge, twisting, his face – She shivered, the chaos pleasure cut short by a cold snake of dread slinking up her spine.

"Revenge," she whispered.

He didn't seem to catch the chill in her voice. "Right. If they haven't already woken Karl, they will when I take you inside. He'll tell them why we're here, and the team will rush in. Your death isn't in their best interests. They'll try to rescue you, while letting me escape so they can continue the hunt."

The car slowed to take a corner, heading into the complex behind the big-box store. Her gaze straight ahead, Hope waited until the car decelerated, then grabbed the door with one hand, and her seat belt with the other. The door flew open, her seat belt whirring as she threw herself against -

Rhys's arm slammed into Hope's chest, catching her square in the solar plexus, forcing her back in her seat, gasping and sputtering as the brakes squealed. Rhys lunged across her to yank the door shut while the car shot up on the curb and bounced down again.

As the car hit a full stop, Hope jerked against his arm, coughing, eyes watering, like she'd been hit with a fresh dose of tear gas. He made a sound, one that sounded suspiciously like…

He was laughing.

Hope gasped, mouth opening and closing, nothing going in or out.

"Shallow breaths." He withdrew his arm. "It'll come back. And, no, I'm not going to apologize for hitting you that hard. Never go easy on allies if you have to take them down. Especially allies. You're already fighting the urge not to hurt them. Counteract that and hit them with everything you've got."

She stared as he talked, calmly twisted in his seat, hand on the wheel, lecturing her as if they were still cruising along, talking about how to tail a car. When her fingers edged toward the door, he pressed the electronic lock.

"I know what you're thinking, Hope. I said I'm going to make the Cabal believe I want revenge for Colm's death, and you're wondering if that's exactly what I want, that I'm saying it to throw you off track. I don't think I have a single operative who would see that far ahead, and I've trained them to always be on the lookout for a trick. I'm impressed."

She kept staring.

"First-rate survival instincts." He leaned toward her. "Does that come from having demon blood? Or a professional thief boyfriend?"

She said nothing.

"Either way, I'm impressed. You can never be too paranoid, Hope. That's what I meant about coming down as hard on allies as on enemies. It doesn't matter whether you work for the council, a Cabal or on your own. Never trust that your allies won't turn on you, and never presume your enemies can't be turned to help you."

He checked the rearview mirror. "Good. They've seen us. It'll be obvious something happened, maybe you tried to escape, which will support the story."

He cranked the wheel away from the curb, then accelerated. "It is a story, Hope. Yes, I want revenge against the person responsible for my son's death, but that person isn't you. You tried to stop it. In your place, I would have done the same. So it's not you I'm after."

"Adele."

He slowed near the medical center, checking for police before turning into the lot. "Neala – his mother – tried to warn me about Adele. I've been gone since Colm was two. I stayed away. That was the deal." Silence as he circled the lot. "But Neala kept in touch, let me know how he was doing. Then, last year, she called me in a fury. She'd caught Adele and Colm making out."

"How old is Adele?"

"Exactly Neala's point. You get it. I didn't. Maybe as a guy all I could think was that, at his age, I'd have been in heaven if a nineteen-year-old came on to me. Like Neala, I suppose you see the problem. It's fine for a fourteen-year-old to fantasize, but for a young woman to reciprocate…"

"Something's wrong."

"Which is what Neala said. I knew it wasn't normal, but the kumpania is very insular. Adele wouldn't have a lot of options for a sexual outlet. Maybe she was immature for nineteen. Maybe Colm was mature for fourteen. I made excuses and chalked up Neala's reaction to a mother's jealousy." He paused a moment, then jackrabbited into a spot, slamming on the brakes hard enough to smack her forward, ribs aching.

"Stay put," he said as he opened the door. "We need to make a good show of this, in case they're already watching."