Chapter Eight
I awake the next morning with a feeling of resolution and I head out quickly to talk to Pat’s friends. Just because Patrick’s mother didn’t get anything from them, doesn’t mean that I will. I track them down in the old neighborhood, a few of them hanging out in front of one of the shops. But after only a few minutes of asking questions, I can tell that none of them can tell me anything more than Mrs. Bowen did. As far as they knew, Patrick was fine when he left and they haven’t seen him since.
I try not to grind my teeth in frustration. I know that every moment I’m not looking for him is a moment wasted, but at this point, I’m running out of ideas. Searching for Patrick in a city as vast as London is like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. I don’t have the right connections to even know where to begin to search.
But Ryland does. I know he has an in with at least one person with access to the camera feeds scattered about London. He could probably get in to see if Patrick has shown up anywhere in the past few days. I take a quick pass around Patrick’s school before in the hopes of finding anything there—as if Pat has been hiding in the library all of this time—before turning my steps back to Auntie’s.
Dham is already awake and waiting for me. I’d promised to show him the quickest way to an Underground access point yesterday. We set out again almost immediately, this time in the opposite direction. The city is quiet and the air is brisk, but the sun is already shining brightly. I munch on a piece of buttered bread as Dham trots along beside me.
Even the tunnels are quiet. We're not far from an entrance to the Resistance's warren of cubbies and caves, but there's a certain stillness that I've come to recognize in the air that signals that there aren't Bottomdwellers nearby. I relax a bit, but keep my eyes open. This feeling can be deceiving so I try not to rely on it. Dham's hands twitch nervously, close to his waist where his bell belt would be if it wasn't locked in a trunk in the locker room. I understand his concern; I'd much rather be out here with my blades than without.
We reach the checkpoint without incident and are let inside the boundaries that we consider our safe zone. I ask the guard where Ryland might be before setting off in the direction of the narrow room that comprises his office. It's not much and it certainly isn't large enough to hold a full meeting of his lieutenants, but it is where Ryland plans the Resistance's next moves. It's also a place I can go to when I've had enough face time with people. Ryland usually doesn't mind me dropping in unannounced every now and then.
Ry is sitting behind a rickety table that's completely covered in maps. He looks up when we enter, a pair of reading glasses perched precariously on his nose. He sweeps the maps into a mostly neat pile and places them off to the side, then stands to greet us. He takes off his glasses self-consciously and drops them to the table.
"What brings you down here on a day off?" He's smiling, looking between me and Dham.
"Dham wants to get in some shooting practice. Is there a spare gun he can use while he's here?"
Ryland arches a brow and stares at Dham. "I would have thought the bells would be enough for you to handle." He leans forward, bracing his hands against the table.
Dham crosses his arms in front of his chest, leaning easily against the wall. "It never hurts to have a spare weapon, especially one the enemy doesn't expect." I eye him carefully, catching something odd in his expression. I hadn't known Dham long, but I knew he wasn't telling the whole truth here.
Ryland nods in approval though. "You've handled guns before, have you?"
Dham nods. "I had one of my own, but I had to dump it when we swam for shore. I'd like to replace it if I could."
"I don't see why not." Ryland stands up straight and walks over to a metal cabinet. "Blessed ammunition is getting harder to come by. We use rubber bullets for target shooting." He rummages around inside one of the drawers as he speaks.
"I'm fine with that, if you can spare it." Dham sounds relieved.
Ry hands a card out to Dham. "Take that to Kevin. He'll get you squared away and show you to the firing range we've got set up." Dham collects the card and looks curiously at it. "Amaranth can show you the way."
"Actually," I begin, voice tentative. "I need to talk to you about something." I turn, ignoring Ry's quizzical look, to face Dham and give him directions for the best place to find Kevin. "If you get turned around, ask anyone you meet. They'll be able to get you on the right path. I'll meet you there when I'm done."
Dham nods. "Sure thing, Amaranth. Thanks, Ryland." He turns to leave, then stops. "Catch up with you later?"
"Sure. I'll come find you when I'm done." I watch his back as he retreats down the tunnel the way we came.
When I turn back around, Ry is staring at me with a smirk on his face. "What?"
"Catch up with him later?" His grin deepens. "Should I be worried?"
“About what?” I cock my head at him, not really understanding what he’s getting at.
“You and Dham. He is rather good looking and about the right age….” His grin is enormous, like the bloody Cheshire Cat of amorous intentions.
I roll my eyes, striving for a patience I most definitely do not feel. "Not funny. You were the one who told me to keep track of him." When he chuckles, I sigh. "Go ahead. Get it all out of your system."
"I'm not saying anything." He puts an innocent look on his face. It's clearly difficult for him to maintain. "But if there is anything that, as a sort of guardian, I should be aware of…." He raises a brow.
"You're impossible." I glare at him, not amused.
He drops back into his chair. "Fine. I'll drop it." He steeples his hands together, elbow resting on the table. "What do you need to talk to me about?"
I take the seat across from him and teeter in it for a moment. I make a mental note not to move at all or even breathe heavily for fear the entire chair will collapse. "I need your help with something." He makes a go on gesture and I take a deep breath. "I need to find someone that I think may be possessed."
His hands drop to the table, one of them plucking at the pile of maps. "Why?"
"You remember my friend Patrick?" At his nod, I continue. "His mother called me yesterday morning. She said that she needed to talk to me about something important. When I got there she told me that Patrick's gone missing. She thinks he might have been possessed, and she asked me to see if I could find him."
"How long's he been gone?" Gone are the grin and the easy joking manner. Ryland looks grim.
"A couple of days. He never came home Wednesday night."
"And she's sure he's not just off having some boyish fun?"
I give him a look that conveys what I think of that idea. "You have met Patrick, right? Did he seem like the kind of guy who's into boyish fun?"
Ry raises his hands to placate me. "Calm down, I just had to ask. I remember Patrick all too well and he always struck me like the kind of kid that had his head on straight. I was just wondering if that had changed."
I shake my head. "He's still Patrick. Fun isn't in his vocabulary. It's why we get on so well." I lean forward, serious now. "None of his friends have seen him, and I'm running out of places to look. I know you've got contacts out and about. Can you put the word out that we're searching for him? I can get a picture from his mum if that's what you need."
"No pictures." He considers me for a long moment. "We may not find anything, Amaranth. It may not be possession."
"I know." I bite my lip. "But it doesn't feel like a random disappearance, you know?"
"I know that you are probably thinking that this is just like what happened to your mother." The lines on his face deepen as he frowns.
I stare at my hands resting against the scarred wood. I haven't wanted to admit it, but the lump in the pit of my stomach cannot be ignored. I feel Ryland's hand on mine and look up to meet his eyes.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" His eyes are kind and worried. "You may not like what you find."
I
nod vigorously, my hair bobbing against my face. I have to blink back tears, but I refuse to give in to them. Not here and not in front of anyone. "I need to try. I owe it to his mother." And I owe it to him. What kind of a friend would I be if I just abandoned him?
"Okay," he says, sliding his hand away from mine. "I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks, Ry."
"Any time, Amaranth."
The Iron Bells Page 8
