The Quinn Henaghan Chronicles Box Set

by Paul Neuhaus

  This time she dropped like a stone into her own body. The Holiday Inn bed bounced with the impact and Quinn gulped air. It’s okay, she told herself. Everything’s fine. You’re in a dark, cold hotel room on Santa Monica Boulevard.

  But someone was there with her.

  At the foot of the bed.

  She knew it instinctively.

  Her senses were changing. She perceived things in a way she never had before. She felt Sato’s essence, but not fast enough. Before she had the power to move her own limbs, he was on top of her, pinning her arms and driving his groin into hers. More to weigh her down and protect his own genitals than to violate her (although Quinn sensed such a violation wasn’t impossible). In ten seconds time, she was back to herself, able to move. But it was ten seconds too much. Sato’s face was already above her own, his breath commingling with hers. Sato smelled of bird shit, a subtle grace note to his aftershave.

  Henaghan wanted to bring her knee up into his groin, but he’d blocked that avenue. Instead she flailed her legs around in a futile attempt to shake him loose. The man was strong, very strong. Above her, she heard him say, “Shhh. Shhh. Shhh. Shhh” as if the phrase might placate her. Her legs were useless and her arms were completely immobilized. With one hand at a time, Sato grabbed Quinn’s throat, releasing her arms. Soon, he was choking the life from her and the fact that she could pound his sides with her fists was meaningless. His focus was singular. He would suffocate her and he would do it quickly. Even in the dark room, she saw orange stars before her eyes. Orange stars coming together to form a bright curtain. She had nothing with which to defend herself.

  Nothing physical anyway.

  She reached out with the only real tool she had. Her mind. Her spiritual essence.

  Slam forward. Slam back.

  She was looking down on herself and, all around her, she felt Sato’s delight in her miscalculation. She’d left her body undefended and he intended to tear it apart. She’d bet everything on a Hail Mary pass and, now that she was in him, she didn’t know what to do.

  In his head only, Sato laughed at her.

  Quinn drew inward upon herself, shrinking her essence until it throbbed with repressed power and rage. Then she let that energy go, imagining it to be icicles, brittle and pointed. She was a bomb, loaded with shrapnel.

  Sato’s dark essence, hungry to envelop her, recoiled in all directions, penetrated by a thousand needles and shocked by deep animal hurt. Her passive body on the bed below them grew hazy and out of focus. Quinn could feel Sato’s entire being quiver and spasm. Again, she collapsed her essence and reexpanded it, throwing knives of ice in all directions. This time, Sato’s physical body rolled to the left and a moan escaped his lips.

  Slam Forward. Slam back.

  She was in her own skin again, gasping for breath and kicking Sato’s legs off her own. With her essence and her daggers gone from him, Chuck was coming back to himself. Quinn flailed with her hand on the nightstand. There it was. It wasn’t a nail file but it would do. The standard-issue nightstand pen. Gripping it tightly, she jammed the instrument into Sato’s right eye socket until the eye jetted aqueous humor. Sato’s scream began but stopped dead. Had she killed him? Henaghan couldn’t wait around to find out. She sprang from the bed, opened the door into the hallway, jetted to the stairs and descended all three flights. As she ran through the lobby, she said to the night manager, “Room 331. Charge it to the card.”

  She was halfway to her Prius before she realized she’d left her sneakers behind.

  Quinn peeled out of the hotel’s side entrance and went three blocks before realizing she’d better lower her speed. She might’ve just committed a murder and getting stopped by the police was the last thing she needed. Had she handled the situation badly? Would they find Sato’s body and come looking for her? Of course, she’d made that easy by registering under her real name and paying with a credit card. It wouldn’t matter that the killing was in self-defense since she’d left the scene in a suspicious fashion. Maybe it’d’ve been better to have the night manager call the police and own up to everything that’d occurred.

  Fuck that, she thought. That’s what you do in a normal murder situation. This is not a normal murder situation.

  She was a good tactical thinker. After three deep breaths, Henaghan knew exactly what she was going to do. Four simple actions, and she’d at least have a better handle on her situation.

  Step one: Wait until daylight. A Denny’s parking lot on Santa Monica Boulevard and an anxious wait helped with that.

  Step two: Stop at a shoe store and buy some new Keds. Easily accomplished, although the sales guy gave her an odd look when he saw she was barefoot.

  Step three: From the shoe store parking lot, she called the Holiday Inn. When the desk picked up, she said, “Hi, this is Quinn Henaghan. I had to leave in a hurry last night.”

  The clerk laughed. “Yes, ma’am. I remember. Believe it or not, you’re not the first person who’s done that. Don’t worry, we charged your card. Actually, it’d be a big help if you’d stop by and sign the slip.”

  Laughter. Laughter was good. Between the laughter and the fellow’s taking-care-of-business attitude, Quinn figured, at the very least, they hadn’t cleaned her room yet. She had to know, though. “Yeah, that won’t be a problem,” she said. “I was wondering if the maid went in there yet. I left my shoes.” She held her breath until the clerk answered.

  “Yes, ma’am. Keds size six. I have them right here.”

  The tension flowed out of Henaghan. They hadn’t found a body. She hadn’t quite done in Chuck Sato—although a pen through the eye socket would’ve killed most normal folk. Good news and bad news.

  Step four: After she got off the phone, she pointed the Prius toward ACT in Beverly Hills. When she got there, she went to reception and spoke to the big-breasted girl manning the desk. “I’m here to see David Olkin.”

  The receptionist nodded. “I see. Who shall I say is visiting?”

  “Tell him it’s his mother.”

  The receptionist stared at her for twenty seconds then turned her attention to the phone. After she’d summoned Olkin, she pointed toward some arm chairs on the other side of the lobby. “He’s on his way. Would you like coffee or water while you wait?”

  Quinn said thanks but no thanks and sat.

  Then the receptionist said, “Don’t I know you?”

  Typical. Henaghan had worked at the agency for years and the bubble-headed dingbat at reception couldn’t quite place her. Quinn grunted. “Weren’t we whores together in Juarez?” Her people skills were at a low ebb.

  “I’m gonna say ‘no’,” the receptionist said.

  Ten minutes later, Olkin appeared. His shoulders slumped when she saw him. “Hi, mom,” he said.

  “Sit down,” Henaghan said, making it an order rather than a request. David complied. “Chuck Sato came to me in a Holiday Inn last night. He tried to kill me.”

  She saw the recognition and alarm on his face before he could hide it. “Oh my God,” he said.

  “Don’t act all surprised. You knew this kind of shit might be in the cards.”

  Olkin opened his mouth then closed it again. “I— I don’t know what to say. I—we—thought you’d have more time.”

  “Darren told me everything. He said you’ve put me between a rock and a hard place. Either I kill Verbic for you, or I wait around and Verbic kills me.” She sighed. “I thought we were friends, David.”

  “We are,” he replied, uncomfortable and conflicted. “I’m not pleading the Nuremberg defense. I believe in the cause and I believe in you. If anybody has a shot at this, it’s you.”

  Quinn’s stare could’ve cut diamonds. “Next time, bear in this mind: There’s this thing called permission.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. Hate me if you want to, but this is bigger than both of us. I had to do it.”

  Henaghan’s eyes narrowed. “Pull that mealy-mouthed ‘woe is me’ thing one more time and they’re
gonna take you out of here on a stretcher.”

  The girl was only five foot two but David never doubted her ability to make good. Olkin tried to make light. “Is that what they call The Irish Temper.”

  Quinn smacked him across the right cheek. Hard. Olkin’s head snapped sideways. The receptionist, unsure of what to do, stood. David signaled to her that it was okay. Henaghan was inches away from using a more profound, less physical power on her boss. She was barely restraining herself.

  Still, Olkin held firm. “Why’re you here, Quinn?”

  “I need you break down the chain of command,” Henaghan said. “I wanna know where your orders come from.”

  “It’s a secret,” David said, clutching his reddened cheek.

  “So’s The Guild. How about if I pull the lid off to The Hollywood Reporter.”

  He smiled. “You could do that, I suppose. What would you say? What do you know now you didn’t know a week ago? Diddley, I’m assuming. Look, I swear to God, I wasn’t trying to get you killed or put you in harm’s way. I mean, I knew there was danger, but I wouldn’t have done it if they hadn’t assured me you could handle it. And so far you have handled it. Do you know how many people could’ve been trapped in a room with Chuck Sato and walked out again? Did you kill him?”

  Quinn sighed. “I thought I did,” she said. “I took out one of his eyes with a ballpoint pen, but he got up and walked it off.”

  Olkin nodded. He wasn’t surprised. “I don’t think you can kill a thing like him with a ballpoint.”

  Quinn leaned forward, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “We can fix this,” she said. “Everything’ll be puppies and rainbows again. All you gotta do is tell me who you report to. I wanna follow this up the chain.”

  David sighed. “The Guild. They’re very serious people. You kick my ass, they kick my ass. Either way, my ass is kicked. There’s no good angle I can play here.” ‘No good angle’. One of his agent phrases. A wheeler-dealer ’til the end.

  If she really wanted to, Quinn could enter Olkin’s head and extract the information she wanted. It’d be easy. But she didn’t want to be that person. That seemed like a Guild thing to do. “Fuck,” Henaghan said. She stood and turned to the exit. After she’d gone a few steps, she turned back and walked over to him again. “Is Mia in on all this?”

  Olkin turned a brilliant shade of red. “What? No, she’s not in on it. She’s got no idea. We’re dating. For real. For like a month.”

  “And you didn’t mention it to me?”

  “I didn’t mention it to you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t wanna say.”

  Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Give me at least this much…”

  “A while back, I saw the two of you together. From a distance. At the Grove. I knew right away she was your sister. After you guys parted, I approached her.”

  Quinn wasn’t grasping the nub of his gist. “And?”

  David lowered his eyes. “I wanted you, but it doesn’t take a genius to see we were never gonna click. I tried to get your attention, but you think of me as the elderly uncle type. I went after Mia because she looks like you.”

  Henaghan digested that for a moment and then she laughed. It was a lot to process. Here Quinn was thinking Olkin was either homo- or asexual and all along he’d been trying to get her attention. Here she was, embarrassed again at her inability to read and interact with people. Either that or David was just bad at flirting. Either way, it didn’t matter.

  “You’re not going to tell Mia, are you? It’s creepy, I know.”

  “What do you think of Mia as a person?”

  Olkin’s volume dropped from embarrassment. “Not much. I mean, she’s mean, right?”

  That made Quinn laugh harder. “So, you’re dating her solely for her looks?”

  He nodded, ashamed.

  Henaghan resumed her walk toward the exit. Over her shoulder, she said, “I am going to tell her,” she said. “Of course I’m going to tell her.”

  Quinn burst through the front door of Taft’s, full of manic determination. Darren and his acolyte du jour looked up. As usual, there were no customers lurking in the darkened stacks. “Heya, Georgia,” the proprietor said, looking up from his precisely folded newspaper.

  “I need your help,” Henaghan said. “Right away.”

  “Slow down, girl. Are you trying to to tell us something?” Taft turned to the ADJ. “I think she’s trying to tell us something.” Turning back to Quinn, he said, “Is there a fire down at the mill? Has lil’ Timmy gone and fell into the well agin?”

  The ADJ was laughing, so Quinn shot him a dagger-glare. He stopped immediately. “I’m not kidding,” the girl said. “This is an emergency situation.”

  Darren nodded and he dismounted his stool. “You have the conn,” he said to the younger man. Putting one hand on Henaghan’s shoulder, he directed her toward the storeroom. Once they were in the space beneath the shop and the trapdoor was closed, Taft said, “What’s the deal?”

  Quinn stepped inside the Circle of Protection and Darren, in a gesture of support, followed suit. “Soto came to me last night. In a Holiday Inn.”

  “Why were you in a Holiday Inn?”

  “I didn’t wanna go home. It’s a long story.”

  Taft shook his head. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter where you are. Soto can find you wherever. I’m surprised he came to you this soon, though. He and Verbic must be nervous.” He sighed. “I’m surprised you’re here. How’d you get away from him?”

  “I thought I killed him.”

  Darren again put his hand on Quinn’s shoulder, this time to calm her and to slow her down. “How’d you almost kill him?”

  “I… distracted him, then I jammed a ballpoint pen through his eye. Into his brain.”

  The man shook his head. “Sato’s wearing a costume. A man suit. There was no ‘brain’ for you to jam. Not in that spot anyway.”

  Quinn’s eyes darted back and forth as she thought. Finally, they locked onto Taft. “This is the part of the movie where you montage me.”

  Darren grinned. He knew exactly what she meant. “We don’t have any ‘80s music.” He paused and his expression grew more serious. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

  Henaghan dropped her chin in frustration. She left it resting against her chest for a moment before raising it again. “‘There are no shortcuts’.”

  Quinn’s mentor shrugged. “This isn’t like Star Wars. You don’t get to spend a wild weekend on Dagobah and leave as a Jedi. Yoda coulda told Luke everything he needed to know over the phone. But people spend years learning this sorcery shit. Lifetimes, even. Now, I’ll grant you, you’ve got a distinct advantage over most of us. You’re a Natural—and I ain’t talking Redford. But, if you’re looking for accelerated AP Magic, I’m afraid there’s no such thing.”

  Henaghan threw up her hands, exasperated. “Is that because there’s no such thing as accelerated AP Magic or is it because you’re a lousy teacher?” She regretted it immediately when she saw the sting in his eyes. “Oh, Darren, I’m sorry. I just—”

  He motioned to her that it was okay. “I’m gonna be mad at you because you say I’m a lousy teacher? I told you I was a lousy teacher when we started.”

  “You’re not a lousy teacher. I’ve learned a lot. It’s just—”

  “It’s just you’re worried and afraid. I’d be worried and afraid, too. Hell, I’m worried and afraid for you.”

  “Let’s look at this from a different angle… What would you do if you knew you had to fight an Asura?”

  “I would make sure my affairs were in order. But—”

  “Darren, that doesn’t help. I need—”

  “You didn’t let me finish my but. I was gonna say, ‘but I’m not you’. You have a deeper reservoir than anyone I’ve ever met. You can take in and Channel frightening amounts of maya. You’ve also got a lot of raw strength. Maybe, just maybe, you can brute-force your way through. What you lack is finesse, a
nd that usually comes with experience. Offhand, I don’t see a ready solution for that equation.”

  “But you knew we were on a ticking clock here. The whole ‘we gotta take down Verbic before he wipes the sleep from his eyes thing. We’ve always had this problem.”

  Taft nodded. “For the record, I still blame Michael Olkin. Man’s got a lousy sense of timing. If he’d stabbed you with his dagger last summer, we could’ve pulled a Rocky.”

  “Okay, well, we can’t do that now. What else have you got?”

  Darren nodded and lapsed into thought. Finally, he looked at her again. “Look, I stand by my earlier statements. Mostly, when two Channelers fight it’s a matter of who’s got the best Kung Fu. However, off the top of my head, I can think of two dirty tricks.”

  Quinn’s eyes lit up. “Now we’re talking.”

  “Pfft. I don’t know that we are talking. In fact, I shouldn’t even tell you this shit. It’s verboten—to good guys and bad. Most Channelers have to learn about it on their own—like when your parents wouldn’t tell you about pee pees and woo woos, but you learn about them at school.”

  The edges of Henaghan’s mouth turned up. “Please, Darren… Tell me about pee pees and woo woos.”

  He turned away, then turned back. She could see he was reluctant. “I want you to understand something… Both of these things I’m gonna show you are Nuclear Options. You may achieve your goal but with disastrous side effects. Like world-ending side effects.”

  Quinn nodded, modeling his serious demeanor.

  “Come over here next to me. Take my hand.”

  The girl did as she was told, coming shoulder to shoulder with her teacher. She took his hand.

  “Do you remember those stupid Magic Eye posters? Where you had to fix your eyes just-so to see the hidden object? Like it started out as some jumbled shit, but then, Whoopty-fucking-doo, there’s a sailboat!”

  “I remember.”

  “Do what I do.” He cocked his head to the side. She followed suit. “Do you see it?”

  Quinn saw nothing. “No, what’re you talking about?”