Our Lady Chaos, page 39
part #5 of Bloodletter Series
Eddie’s guts froze solid and fear locked his mouth shut, locked his mind. Beneath his palm, the doorknob jiggled. Amanda! I have to get Amanda out of here!
Abby’s laughter rang in his ears, loud, raucous—even through the wooden door.
“What the hell is that?” asked Amanda, coming to her feet in a rush. Her chair toppled over behind her.
Something thumped against the door, but not hard enough to shake it in its frame. Again, the stair tread creaked. He gripped the doorknob with both hands and squeezed hard against its rotation, ignoring the burning pain, the almost electric shock of the intense cold. For a moment, he didn’t think he could hold it against Abby’s strength, but then the pressure on the knob relented, and a faint pop sounded behind him.
“Hello, Amanda. My name is Abby.”
Dread settled in Eddie’s core, and though he knew where the path would lead him, he shoved his fear into the yawning pit in his middle. The icy numbness descended on him like a balm, like a salve for his ice-burned palms.
Ever so slowly, Eddie relaxed his grip on the doorknob. The fear that circled his mind like a raging tornado was that he held the door against nothing, that Abby was no longer on the other side of the door.
He turned his head and screamed at what he saw.
6
“We’ll double security,” said Greg.
Mike shook his head. “We can post ten times the security. If they send one demon, you’re dead.”
Greg made a moue and looked out at Lake Erie for a while. “Who’s to say we are safe here?”
Toby shook his head. “Harper penetrated the outer layer of SEMPRe, but LaBouche didn’t leave me with the impression that he knew it was anything but a website. Besides, we insulated this place from SEMPRe, too.”
“But I enjoy running International Datawerkz.” Greg sighed. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Scott clicked his tongue. “Welcome to my world, buddy,” he muttered.
“I sent a memo you’ll be working from home for medical reasons. After a few weeks, we’ll put you on indefinite leave.”
“That will cover the window dressing, but it doesn’t answer my question.”
“Come on, Greg,” said Mike. “You know it’s too risky, now. Plus, you’ve been dripping acid in my ear for months about how you want to be a coder, not an administrator.”
Greg turned his face away.
“Plus, it gives us more time to hang out here,” said Mike in a low, silky tone.
Greg sighed and took Mike’s hand. “That part will be nice.”
“No more late nights.”
“At least not late nights apart.”
Mike chuckled deep in his throat, then seemed to remember the others in the room and blushed.
7
Mason put the van in park and sagged back against the seat. “God, what a night.”
Denny grunted, opened the door, and climbed out of the van. “Come on, Harper.”
Mason nodded and got out. His gaze scanned the parking lot. LaBouche’s blue BMW stood a few spots away, along with Sally McBride’s beast of a car. It was too early for anyone else. “At least we don’t have to interrupt LaBouche and Nicole.”
“I thought you liked that part,” sneered Denny.
“I’ll look at her tits any chance I get. So will you, and you know it.”
Denny grunted and pulled the glass door open. “Come on.”
The town hall building rang with early morning silence, but the air already blew from the vents and blessed coolness embraced them as they crossed the lobby.
LaBouche’s door was closed, but the murmur of voices came from within. Mason knocked.
“Come!”
Mason opened the door and froze for a split second, his gaze bouncing from LaBouche to Brigitta to something straight out of Greek mythology—a thing with the body of a woman on top of a black-scaled snake’s tail. From their expressions, he and Denny were interrupting a serious conversation.
Harper plastered a grin on his face and held up his hands. “Sorry for interrupting, but I’ve got something you need to hear.”
LaBouche squinted at him and sneered. “Well?”
“Dan Delo is a traitor,” said Mason. “He diverted us from the meeting place, then we think he murdered Greg Canton.”
“Maybe,” said Denny. When Mason glared at him, he lifted his shoulders. “Why would a demon that big need a shotgun?”
“Shotgun?” asked Brigitta, turning an icy stare at the pair of them.
“Delo attacked both of us, and when we awoke this morning, there was a kill scene near the van. Blood everywhere, surrounded by shotgun shells.”
LaBouche grimaced and turned his face away. “Where is Dan Delo?” he asked. “And why did you have Greg Canton to begin with?”
“I sent him to capture the hunter,” said Brigitta in melancholy tones. “Why would Dan Delo do this?”
Mason twitched his shoulders. “Betrayal?”
“He is unstable,” said LaBouche. “I’ve said so all along.”
Brigitta turned her cold glare on him. “Then why haven’t you sent him home?”
“Unstable doesn’t mean un-useful.” LaBouche tilted his head to the side. “Plus, while I knew he was unstable, I didn’t know he was fucking insane.”
Sally scoffed, and LaBouche glared at her.
“Something to add…Sally?”
McBride squinted at Mason. “This story seems…contrived.” She turned to face Mason and Denny. “It seems like a story weak humans might make up to cover for their mistakes.”
Mason smiled his best smile—one that would’ve sent a human woman running for a cop—and took another step into the room. “I’ll take anyone interested back to the scene. Perhaps my inexperience led me to a false conclusion that someone as lofty as Sally McBride might pierce.”
Sally returned his smile, but hers gave him pause.
“Come now, children,” said Brigitta. “I’m sure Sally didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensitivities, Mason.” Brigitta swiveled in her chair to glance at the other demon. “You didn’t, did you, Sally?”
Sally pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “No, of course not.”
Mason glared at her. “Are you sure? I can show you, up close and in person.”
Sally turned her head away, but Mason thought she might have been grinning.
Grinning.
“Stop wasting time measuring your dicks,” snapped LaBouche. “We need to deal with Delo.”
“Indeed,” muttered McBride. She turned to Brigitta. “Your command, Mistress?”
Brigitta lifted the index and middle fingers of her left hand and flicked them toward the door. Then she stood, looking as though she bore the weight of the universe on her shoulders.
8
“Run, Amanda!” Eddie cried. He spun and swept up a chair from the kitchen set.
Amanda sat at the table, staring at Abby, frozen to the spot as surely as if she were a rabbit gone tharn. She still held the check in her hand.
Eddie took three quick steps from the cellar door and smashed the chair across Abby’s back. The chair disintegrated as though he’d smashed it against a wall of granite, though Abby didn’t so much as a twitch.
“It’s so nice for you to meet me, Amanda. You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed about this day.” Abby’s cold tone turned nasty as she spoke, and spittle flew from her lips.
Eddie grabbed her from behind but yelped and snatched his hands away as though he’d touched fire.
Abby glanced at him over her shoulder. “For fuck’s sake, Eddie. You’ve even seen my true form in the back of your uncle’s pickup!”
For a split second, Eddie thought he saw raw, golden flame swirling in her eye like a tornado. She showed him her black fangs in a vicious grin. “What did I promise you, tiger?”
Eddie met Amanda’s gaze. “I love you, Amanda. I always have.” Then he stepped around Abby and stood between her and Amanda, holding up his fists. “Run!” he screamed.
Abby laughed.
9
As Lamia and Mason argued, LaBouche held Chaz Welsh’s mobile phone under the desk and swiped it open. The phone wasn’t a burner, but no one knew he had it. He’d found it under the driver’s seat of the BMW.
Using the claw of his thumb, he typed “Dan Delo” into the recipient field of a text message.
Next, he typed: “Get away. Brigitta on the warpath. Sending LaBouche to capture you.”
As he thumbed the send button, he fought to keep a feral snarl from his face.
10
“Coming, LaBouche?” asked Brigitta. “He’s your underling, after all.”
LaBouche tilted his head to the side, then leaned back in his massive chair and licked his lips. At the same time, he flicked the mobile into the briefcase he’d taken to carrying. “Yes, yes,” he said. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He snapped the case closed and picked it up.
Brigitta rolled her eyes and turned to the humans. “Mason and Denny will come with us.”
With a grin, Sally moved to stand beside them, putting one hand on each man’s shoulder. “Yes, Mistress. Of course, they’re happy to serve.”
11
Amanda lunged to her feet, scattering the mail across the linoleum, sending her chair skittering into the wall. “What do we do? Eddie!”
Abby glowered at her over Eddie’s shoulder. “Simple, hon. You die.” As one would swat a fly, Abby slapped Eddie, and he crumpled to the ground. “Most of the time, I allow the husband to do this part, but Eddie’s been a naughty boy.” She glanced at him where he lay, then returned her gaze to Amanda. When their eyes met, Abby’s narrowed, throwing electric blue sparks. “Come here, you little bitch!”
Amanda lunged away, keeping the table between them. “Eddie! Eddie!”
“Eddie! Eddie!” Abby mocked. “Quit whining! I let you get pregnant the one time.” She grimaced, and it grew into a gloating smile. “Though in the end, I came to my senses and killed it before your brat drew breath.”
Amanda had moved the length of the table while Abby spoke, but she stopped and straightened. “What?”
Abby’s glowered at her. “Didn’t you hear me?” She hunched her shoulders, extending her neck to thrust her face in Amanda’s direction. She opened her mouth, exposing a double row of obsidian fangs. Her jaw kept dropping until her mouth gaped impossibly wide. Mocking baby noises came from deep in her throat. Her mouth snapped shut, then she yelled, “I killed your baby, bitch!”
Amanda drew her head back as if slapped, then cocked her head to the side. “Is that…” She blinked and frowned. “Where is that music coming from?”
Abby threw back her head and laughed. Her laughter seemed to fill the room, and neither she nor Amanda noticed Eddie slipping into the cellar.
12
Anger simmered in Dan Delo’s blood. He’d wasted an entire night flying in lazy circles above a pack of idiots parked out in the middle of nowhere. Brigitta had said Mason Harper would bring them Greg Canton, but Harper had never arrived.
When his mobile phone buzzed, Delo almost fished it out of the fanny-pack he wore and threw it with all his strength. But before he did, he glanced at the screen and read the text message displayed there.
Without another glance at the demons milling around below, he veered away, descending until he skimmed the tops of the trees. His gaze danced back and forth, trying to see everywhere at once.
Brigitta eliminated Chaz, he thought. Brigitta sent him home, and she has no reason to lie about that. So who sent this text?
He had no satisfactory answers to that question. He didn’t even have satisfactory guesses at those answers.
Even so, he didn’t want to be sent home.
13
“Motherfucker!” yelled Scott as he slammed his bedroom door open. “He’s private messaging me now?”
Mike arched a lazy eyebrow but didn’t lift his head from the back of the couch. “Who?”
“Fucking LaBouche, that’s who!”
Mike sat up. “LaBouche? What does he want?”
Scott made a disgusted noise and threw the cell down on the couch. “Read it yourself.” He slammed his bedroom door on the way back through.
“It’ll be hard for him, working with the demon that killed his little girl,” said Benny from the kitchen doorway.
“Benny, you have a gift for understatement.” Mike grinned at him to take away any sting.
“Yeah.” Benny jerked his chin toward the phone. “What’s it say?”
Mike picked up the cell and swiped away the lock screen. “Don’t you already know?”
“I could pick it out of Scott’s brain, but he’d consider it rude.”
“True enough. The whole message is two words: ‘Want her?’” Mike paused, thumb poised over the screen. “What do I say? Ask him who ‘she’ is?”
“No, that much is obvious,” said Benny.
“Yeah? I can think of a good answer.”
“Brigitta,” whispered Greg. “The Lady in the Lake.”
Benny made a finger gun and shot at Greg with it.
“Yeah,” muttered Mike. “I guess that makes sense.” He typed a short burst of letters, then looked up. “Sent.”
“What did you say?” asked Greg.
“I channeled Scott. I said ‘Duh. Stop messaging me, asshole.’ Then I gave him a link to my account in the app.”
“Good. Toby and the others should be here before you reply to the next one.”
“Go round everyone up,” said Mike. “I’ve got the feeling LaBouche is under the gun.”
14
Eddie hated leaving Abby and Amanda alone, but if he didn’t find something to use against her, both he and Amanda were dead. He knew that for a certainty. My entire fucking life before John rescued me proves that point. Gil hasn’t killed Margo, but if he hadn’t gone to prison… Who knows what he would have done?
A discussion he’d had with Dr. Erikson kept repeating as though on a loop. Erikson had asked him about the lamp, about how it had changed, and why Eddie believed Abby’s appearances to him as a child had brought about the changes to it. He remembered the doctor saying that something had happened to Eddie to change his perceptions of events. He hadn’t considered it at the time, though he’d returned to the idea many times as he’d gone on with his life. What if Erikson was right, but for the wrong reason? What if Abby started coming because of something that happened to me rather than because Daddy bought the lamp? He sneered at himself and descended into the darkness of the basement. Cognitive psychology will not help me get rid of Abby!
Standing in the darkness at the bottom of the cellar steps, he reached for the rechargeable flashlight. He’d hung the charger right at the bottom of the staircase, and he always put the flash back into it, so the charge remained fresh. He stretched his fingers wide and brushed the charger with his pinky, then latched onto the light and pulled it free. The body of the flashlight felt cold and slimy against his palm. The sensation was so visceral, so immediate that he paused and stared at the thing in his fist.
The lamp! Eddie thought. When Daddy brought it home, I almost dropped it on the kitchen floor. He didn’t understand the importance of that memory, nor did he have any idea why he’d remembered at that moment.
Eddie flicked on the light, the bright white beam piercing the darkness with ease. He flashed the beam into all the dark nooks and corners of the cellar. If the far corner, boxes still packed from their move stood in a leaning tower. Written on the side of one the boxes in indelible black ink were the words: “Tiffany Lamp—DO NOT MOVE.” Someone had scratched a single black line through the label.
Think, Eddie! he railed at himself. Think! He swept the light back and forth in the basement, seeing nothing that could help, coming back, again and again, to the old cardboard box in the corner.
How could we have missed that? How many times have we been down here, either alone or together? I mean, it’s right fucking there!
Something thumped against the floor over his head, and Eddie jumped, stabbing the flashlight beam straight up as if that would help anyone. The barrel of the light felt so greasy, so…
“Holy fuck!” he hissed. The lamp! Erikson was right, something did happen to me that changed things! He bolted across the cellar and knocked the leaning tower of boxes over. Squatting, he ripped open the one marked “Tiffany Lamp—DO NOT MOVE” with the single black line refuting it.
What he’d forgotten, what had seemed so inconsequential, had happened before any fights, before any faces leered at him from the reflected room in the television screen, before the lamp had changed. What he’d forgotten had happened the very first time he’d touched the lamp. It felt like this damn flashlight! So cold against my skin, so greasy… The memory replayed again and again as he stared down at the lamp.
“Can I carry it?” he’d asked with the excitement of a seven-year-old. He’d rushed to the kitchen table and grabbed the lamp by its brass base and the pole of the same material between the body and the lightbulb. As he lifted it, something algid and greasy wriggled across the skin on the back of his hands. He cried out and let go of the lamp, leaving it tottering on the edge of the table. He held one hand with the other, up close to his chest as if it had stung him.
The lamp had stung him, and Abby was the stinger.
15
“Why in the hell is Delo posted way out in the middle of nowhere?” grumbled LaBouche.
“It’s about halfway from where we grabbed Greggy,” said Mason. “It seemed to make sense at the time. Enough distance to spot any pursuit, not so far as to risk an interception.”
The cell phone in LaBouche’s pocket vibrated once, but he didn’t reach for it yet. Instead, he turned to Mason. “And yet they intercepted you.”
“Yeah, but only because Dan Delo switched sides.”
“If he did that, he wouldn’t be at the meeting point any longer,” said LaBouche. “And this would be a wasted trip.”
