Midnight's Angels - 03

by Tony Richards

  He had dark blue eyes, a smile that was slightly quirky. Now that his face was properly in view, I was definite that he was somewhere in his late twenties, his complexion flawless. Despite the fact we’d found him out without him wanting us to, his manner was relaxed, a touch resigned and philosophical. He seemed to take the attitude that what was done was done. The real question in front of us was where did we go from here?

  I was smelling something on the air other than cooking odors. A sharp, slightly acrid scent, like you’d expect to find in some kind of quarry. So I let my gaze wander from the man, who still wasn’t moving. This upper floor had been broken down into one room as well. But there was not a stick of furniture. It was almost completely bare. The floor was tiling of some kind.

  At the center was a half-finished marble statue maybe four feet tall. It was a variation on an African style that I had seen in magazines -- a man and a woman clinging to each other so they formed one single entity. But where the pictures I’d seen were simplistic figures, this one had more detail.

  Scattered about the piece was a selection of chisels, mallets, sanders. And, by the mess of rubble and dust also present, the guy had been working at this sculpture hard. Which puzzled me profoundly since, if this man really was an adept, he could bring something like that into existence simply by conjuring it up.

  I climbed the rest of the way up and took a few slow steps in his direction. Could hear Cassie hurrying up behind me. She seemed pretty nervous for some reason, because her footsteps were faltering ones. Which wasn’t like her in the slightest. But the blond man looked past me, and his smile widened slightly.

  “Pleased to finally meet you, Cass.”

  When I glanced around at her, she had a rabbit in the headlamps look. Awfully numb, uncertain. She was barely blinking as she stared at him. Then she seemed to remember herself.

  “How’d you know my name?”

  “I’ve noticed you plenty of times. You used to hang round here a lot when you were younger.”

  He was referring to her shady past, when she and the motorcycle gang she’d joined had hung out on O’Connell.

  “I never noticed you,” she pointed out. And her tone was wary, like she ought to have. This was all pretty odd.

  “I have a talent for not being noticed.”

  “We already figured that one out,” I told him.

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “I suppose you did.”

  He was still behaving like nothing untoward had happened. And that irritated me more than a little, given the circumstances we were in. This was a major turn-up for the books. But it still remained to be seen whether it would work to our advantage.

  There was only one light in the room, a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. And a skylight up there too. But I looked at how cramped his conditions were. Was this any way for a major adept to be living?

  “Who are you?” I asked him outright.

  He tightened his lips, then stood up. The guy was as tall as me, and had the same wide shoulders.

  “Quinn Maycott,” he announced.

  He offered me a hand, but noticed the suspicion on my face and then thought better of it.

  “It was you who brought the lights back on?”

  He gave another, brisker nod. I almost had to bite the inside of my lip to stop my frustration boiling over.

  “You’re a big-time conjurer, in other words. And this is the first time we’ve ever heard of you?”

  He saw what I was getting at, and looked slightly uncomfortable. His movements became wooden. One slender-fingered hand lifted and brushed his hair back to the side -- it had to be some kind of mannerism.

  But that was the point when I caught a glimpse of his right ear. It was slightly leaf-shaped. Which was the hallmark of a certain bloodline that I knew. And combined with the dark blue peepers …?

  Maycott saw where my gaze had gone, and his cheeks colored slightly.

  “You’re a Raine?” I asked incredulously.

  And once again, he nodded.

  * * *

  I’d known Woody’s father, August. He had been a good man, genial and decent, not a crackpot like his son. But even good men go astray on occasion.

  His wife, Marielle, was a fine woman in her own way, but highly-strung and high maintenance. So obsessed with magic that she had real trouble coping with the everyday problems that life threw at you even when you were an adept.

  So when August fell badly and broke his ankle one year -- and most people who practiced witchcraft could not heal injuries the way that Willets was able -- she found herself incapable of dealing with the matter, crutches and splints and whatnot. She’d been forced to hire a nurse. Ursula Maycott, Quinn’s mother. Who had passed away from a series of strokes three years back. But had told him everything before she’d died.

  We heard all this in the downstairs room, Quinn sitting upright on the edge of the recliner. I paced around as I listened to him. Cass was standing propped against the handrail of the staircase, gawking at him. There was still an air of awkwardness about her, but it wasn’t fear, uncertainty, that made her look that way. In the normal scheme of things, she was deeply wary of most adepts. But she seemed almost fascinated by this one.

  I forgot about her, turning my attention back to the matter in hand. Of all the explanations I had been expecting, this one was the last. Woodard Raine had a half brother. Who’d believe it?

  “So you …” I fought to accept what my eyes were telling me, the way he lived, the work he did. “You make a living with these sculptures?”

  “A fairly good one, sure.”

  “That’s horse puckey. I’d have heard of you.”

  “Part of my magic too,” he explained. “People buy my work, but then forget my name. Anonymity is … important to me.”

  But I still didn’t get why he was doing this. This tiny little house. And working with his hands, in obscurity, when he could be …

  I asked him out loud.

  “Living on Sycamore Hill?” he came back. “Skulking in the shadows with the other snooty descendents of the Salem crowd? Hanging around in some big, hollow mansion, with no regular friends, not even many neighbors? Sounds to me like hell on earth.”

  I hadn’t been expecting any answer like that. And it stopped me in my tracks, but gradually sank in.

  “So … you want to live a normal life?”

  “It’s not just what I want,” he smiled. “It’s what I’ve always done. I even have bowling trophies -- do you want to see them?”

  If he was trying to make a joke of this, I wasn’t laughing. My head began revolving slightly, the details of the room swimming around me.

  “So you’ve never used your powers?” I managed to get out.

  “I have. But not on a large scale. Not till now.”

  And that was when anger finally overtook me.

  “Don’t you think that’s being pretty irresponsible?”

  Over by the staircase, Cassie gave a jerk, as though I’d woken her from some mild reverie. Her gaze went hard, a crease appearing across the bridge of her nose. I wasn’t quite sure who that was directed to.

  Maycott sat a little straighter, frowning mildly.

  “How d’you mean?”

  “This isn’t the first time our town’s been in trouble. You have to know that. We’ve found ourselves staring at destruction several times before. And you’re telling me you sat back and did absolutely nothing, just so you could hang onto your bowling trophies?”

  His expression became slightly pained.

  “You don’t understand,” he replied. “I don’t know why exactly, but I cannot use my powers for violence. Believe me, I’ve tried. I would have gladly stomped all over Saruak and Hanlon. But my magic isn’t of that kind.”

  A supernatural pacifist, then. That was a new one on me. And an argument that I was not wholly convinced by.

  “Maybe you should have tried harder.”

  I was still seething, remembering those times in the past whe
n people had perished at some monster’s hand and me and Cass had nearly joined them.

  “Whenever I’ve tried to force it,” Quinn said, blinking at me, “there’s been this pain in my head. It gets worse till I stop. I can’t explain, but it’s prevented me from helping in the way I wanted.”

  “I’ve managed what I could, though,” he added uncomfortably.

  If he had second sight, like the other adepts, then he had to have been watching me when I had been in trouble. And I figured out what that might imply.

  “On Greenwood Terrace? You opened the barrier?”

  “Yuh.”

  Which finally explained it. And I started to calm down a little.

  “And in front of Raine Manor? You parted the flames?”

  “Uh-huh. And other, earlier times, before this started.”

  I felt deeply unsettled when he said that. Because … which earlier times was he referring to? A thought occurred to me. That on a few occasions in the past, facing other dangers, I’d been blessed with slightly more luck than a person had a right to. Was that merely the Fates dealing me a decent hand? Or had the person I was talking to been watching over me and Cass?

  I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that. I suppose I ought to have been grateful. But it made me feel slightly like my life was not my own, and I’d been made to feel that way before. The whole ‘Defender’ business. So I finally decided to just let the matter drop.

  I paced about a little more, breathing deeply, letting my surroundings steady. Then I pointed out, “Well, bang goes your anonymity.”

  He peered at me. “Only if you tell.”

  “Are you seriously asking me to believe that not a single person in this town knows what you are?”

  He pulled a face. I noticed Cass had tipped her head to one side.

  “Why should they? I make my own living, cook my own meals, clean and maintain this place by hand. I’ve never cast the tiniest spell with anyone around to see it.”

  “And so that’s as far as helping us goes? Your contribution’s done?”

  It didn’t sound like I was giving him much choice. But -- by the resolute look on his face -- he’d already come to his own decision.

  “I’ll do whatever else I can,” he assured me, “just so long as it involves no violence.”

  Which sounded like a limited amount of help, to put it mildly. But maybe he was telling the truth, and there was something preventing him from really cutting loose the way the others did. The man seemed genuine enough, and I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “What do you think we ought to do now?” I asked him, hoping he might have some kind of fresh insight on this business.

  “We’re safe for tonight, at least. The lights’ll keep on going until dawn. So I suggest we give ourselves a break.”

  To my amazement, he got up, strolled casually across to the futon, dug out a pair of suede ankle-length boots from behind it and stepped into them. I stared at him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Down the road to have a drink with my friends. The rest of you guys can do what you like.”

  And he was serious. Fully confident that his magic would keep us safe throughout the hours of darkness. So relaxed about it that he wasn’t even giving it a second thought. I’d rarely known an adept behave that assuredly. Maybe it was the Raine blood in him.

  My first impulse was to try and stop him, but I could think of no sensible way to do so. I had to accept it. If the man wanted to go out, then that seemed to be the last word on the matter. I’d never encountered anyone quite like this before.

  And there was something else.

  I couldn’t help but notice that, when I went back outside to tell the others what was going on, Cassie didn’t seem inclined to follow.

  CHAPTER 37

  Raine General, of course, had its own generator in the basement, and so had not been plunged into darkness when the power station had shut down. It stood on a low ridge a few streets to the north of Union Square like some enormous bright jewel on a cloth of black velvet, close enough that its inhabitants could see the refreshed yellow glow of the streetlamps over there from any of its south-side windows. That was a sight that lifted their spirits.

  But a deep ravine of shadow lay between them and the source of it. And it looked pretty well impossible to cross, since there were hunched shapes moving through the gloom.

  Saul Hobart peered out, and then continued pulling his clothes on. All Amelia could do was watch him helplessly.

  “Saul, are you sure this is wise? You’re still weak.”

  He glanced across at her. He’d accepted they were married, but still didn’t remember her even slightly.

  “I’m a policeman, right?”

  She nodded stiffly.

  “Well, it looks like there’s a whole load of trouble going down out there. So maybe it’s time for me to start behaving like one.”

  “You’re only one man,” Amelia persisted. “You’ve no idea what’s really going on. I heard most of the town has been evacuated. What do you hope to achieve?”

  He peered into the labeled cardboard box where his effects had been stored. Then asked, “Shouldn’t I have a badge and gun?”

  “They’re locked away at home,” she told him. “Think of the children, Saul. You shouldn’t do this.”

  But he was still having trouble with the children’s names. Things seemed to have started moving around in his brain since he had woken up, and perhaps that was pushing such mundanities aside. He wasn’t sure. How’d he even known that there was something taking place in Tyburn?

  He moved up closer to Amelia, shushed her. Then, after a moment’s thought, he bent down and kissed her very gently on the forehead.

  “You’re my wife and you’re concerned about me. I get that, appreciate it. But I have a job to do, and now seems as good a time to start as any.”

  Saul felt slightly weird behaving this way. It was as if he was acting out some unfamiliar role that had been thrust on him. But he still trusted his instincts. And they told him this was what he had to do.

  He went into the corridor. There were a good number more people wandering along it than on previous days. A lot of them were in blue gowns with drawstrings at the back, and most of them were looking pretty worried. He understood why, but didn’t allow their fear to make the leap into him. He had it on authority that he’d once been a real good law enforcement officer.

  So he kept on going until he found a uniformed security guard near the main entrance. The man seemed to recognize him, nodded in a deferential way.

  Saul commandeered his gun and went outside.

  * * *

  God, he had such long eyelashes. They fascinated her slightly more than even his deep blue eyes.

  Cassie had taken Quinn at his word, accepting there was nothing more that could be done tonight. After consulting briefly with the others, she’d announced she was going to take a break, as he’d suggested. And then she accompanied him to his regular watering hole.

  When he stopped outside the place, she gawped with recognition.

  “Oh my God!”

  The sign above the entrance read Nadine’s. And the lighting down the stairs beyond the entranceway was soft and slightly opalescent, where it had once been red. But she recognized it instantly.

  “This is my old place!” she told him. “It used to be called ‘The Hole.’”

  “I know,” Quinn smiled.

  “It was a dump.”

  “It’s changed a lot since Nadine took it over,” he assured her.

  A group of about ten people were clustered around the entrance. An even mix of men and women roughly about Quinn’s age, casually but fashionably dressed. They had guns, so they’d obviously been involved in the town’s defense until the lights had come back on. Now, they had a becalmed look. They seemed unsure what they should do. When Quinn appeared, they seemed a little relieved and nodded to him. Then their gazes turned on her, wonder
ing who she was.

  One of the women, Cassie noticed, had a multicolored punkish hairdo and was slightly older than the rest.

  “Hey, Nadine.” And Quinn smiled at her. “Business pretty slow tonight, huh?”

  She pulled an unamused face. “What’re you so cheerful about? Don’t you know what’s been going on?”

  “I know it’s stopped. So why’re you still up here?”

  She gawked at him openly. “You’re not serious?”

  At which, one of the nearby men said, “If he is, it’ll be a first.”

  But he said it in an amiable way, one friend taking a mild sideswipe at another.

  Quinn grinned and pushed on past them, clattering down the staircase, taking Cassie with him. It was dead quiet and empty in the basement. The place was decked out with pale walls, low soft furniture, and a load of prints and photographs. She turned around on the spot, barely seeing anything familiar.

  That women’s restroom over near the back? She had left someone else’s blood in there, and remembered it clearly. But where were the tall stools with their cracked plastic tops? And where was the grunge music?

  Then, to her surprise, the rest of the crowd came trooping slowly down. Quinn might be working some slight magic on them, but she doubted that. It was his easy confidence at work again. And did he always have this effect on people?

  None of them looked comfortable or happy. It struck them -- obviously -- as precisely the wrong time to kick back and relax. But this crowd looked like they belonged here. They had an artsy look, collarless shirts and wire-rimmed spectacles among the men, braided hair and macramé tops favored by the women. A little bit like overgrown college kids. They were probably quite intellectual.

  And she was just a waitress who had never finished high school. Cassie felt uneasy, but tried hard not to show it.

  The guys were cute, it had to be admitted, and the girls were pretty. And the way some of the latter looked at Quinn made her imagine they’d been more than friends, at some earlier point in time. They all seemed to be looking to him for a lead. And so he gave it.

  “What are you guys looking so damned glum for?” he inquired.

  Without waiting for an answer, he went across to the gaudily illuminated jukebox in the corner, put a Stevie Wonder record on -- “I Was Made to Love Her” -- then turned his attention back to Nadine.