by R. L. King
Examining the map, he saw that the junkyard was bounded by four different streets: the one that served as its actual physical address and three more on the other three sides. Though the junkyard itself wasn’t marked on the map, it looked to Jason like it took up a fairly large block’s worth of space all on its own.
That was good, especially since it was the middle of the day, and he wouldn’t have any darkness to hide him. He consulted the map again and decided the best way to do this was to go a few streets over and approach the place from the back. He wasn’t sure he could sneak in if the junkyard had a perimeter fence, but maybe he could climb over or maybe the view would be clear enough to know for sure whether anybody was there.
As he pulled into visual range of the block where the junkyard was, he could see its contents rising up in large untidy piles above the chain-link fence that bounded it. Damn, he thought as he got closer. Razor wire. Not going over the top here. I’ll have to find an opening somewhere. After scanning the vicinity for a couple minutes to make sure nobody obvious was lying in wait for him, he got out of the car and, leaving it unlocked, crossed the street to the fence. He still felt vulnerable, as there was no real place to hide. It helped that it was an overcast and rather chilly day—at least the sun wasn’t blazing over his head.
Creeping down the fence, he looked for an opening large enough to wriggle through, encouraged by the continued lack of any signs of people, hostile or otherwise. He found what he was looking for almost at the end of the block: a spot where somebody had snipped through the bottom part of the fence, probably with some kind of metal shears. It was a neat cut, neatly put back together so it was difficult for the oblivious passerby to notice. For someone like Jason, though, who was actively looking, it was as good as a doorway.
With a glance back to make sure nobody was bothering the car, he pulled aside the loose part of the fence and wriggled in, coming up behind a tall and still intact pile of crushed cars. Crouching low, he crept forward until he came to the next intersection and quickly peeked around the corner. This aisle was still unblocked and accessible, and it was deserted.
Where would they be if they were here? The more he thought about it, the more he thought that a junkyard would be an odd place to dump a body. It was much more common to dump them in landfills, where the smell of decay would be masked by the stench of thousands of tons of garbage. If she were here, it would either be because they’d found her in one of the crushed cars, or else they’d simply put her here for convenience.
If she were here at all, of course. His doubts were growing. It was very quiet here, and so far he hadn’t heard any sounds at all. No sirens, no crackles or tinny electronic voices coming from police radios, no crunch of tires as vehicles entered or exited the scene. It was as quiet as a—
No, let’s not think that. It’s creepy enough out here as it is.
He crept forward again, still keeping low and occasionally glancing not only behind him, but upward. Charles had said that the DMW didn’t use guns, but now he knew at least some of them used magic, and that was even worse. He wondered if they could magically tell he was here somehow, then reminded himself it would be easy to scare the shit out of himself if he kept making up things that magic could “possibly” do. Being able to kill people by making blood come out of all their head-holes was freaky enough, thank you very much.
She’s not here, you idiot. Get out of here while you still can.
Good advice, he decided. There was no way the cops were here. Even from where he was, the place wasn’t big enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear the regular hubbub of a police presence anywhere inside. Better to get back in the car and get back to Palo Alto. Stone should be back home soon and maybe they could finally locate Verity and get this whole business over with.
Coming up from his crouch, he turned with the intention of sneaking back the way he came as fast as he could. He wouldn’t feel safe until he was back on the freeway, driving toward—
Someone was standing behind him, not six feet away.
He yelped—he couldn’t help it—and leaped back, eyes wide, crashing into a pile of scrap that teetered alarmingly but didn’t fall, although he nearly did.
Scrambling to get his balance back, Jason stared wildly at the person who had silently sneaked up on him. It was a teenage boy, maybe fourteen at the most, and he hadn’t moved. He returned Jason’s stare, his eyes unblinking, his mouth stretched into a wide and unnerving grin. Fishbelly-pale under a layer of grime, he wore a tattered navy-blue coat, a stocking cap pulled down low over his stringy hair, and dirty jeans. His hands hung at his sides, limp and dangling.
While he struggled to stop his heart from pounding, Jason looked all around to make sure nobody else was sneaking up on him too. So far, it was just him and the boy. The kid didn’t look like the DMW, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat. That smile was enough to haunt his nightmares all on its own.
And then the kid spoke. “Hi,” he said. He was still smiling, and still hadn’t blinked. His voice was high—the voice of a boy, not of a young man past puberty.
“Uh—hi,” Jason replied, calculating how easy it would be for him to shove past the kid and run for it before his inevitable buddies showed up.
“It’s dangerous to play here,” the kid said.
“Um…yeah, I’m getting that feeling.”
“You should go.”
Jason took a deep breath. “That’s what I’m trying to do. You—uh—scared me.”
“People say that a lot, that I scare them,” the kid agreed. “I don’t mean to.”
“Er—I’m sure you don’t.” Jason’s Weird-O-Meter was going off the scale again, and he could not get any kind of read on this strange boy. He glanced left and right again—still no sign of anybody else. He decided to take a chance. “Um…I’m gonna go now, okay? But can you tell me if you’ve seen any policemen here?”
“I’m scared of policemen,” the kid said.
Jason nodded. “But have you seen any? Today?”
The kid shook his head. “No policemen. You should go, though. They’re waiting for you.”
Jason’s blood chilled. “They’re—who’s waiting for me?”
“You should go,” the kid said again. “I think they might have heard you yell. I have to go now too. Bye!” And he stepped backward—and disappeared into a pile of junk.
Jason blinked twice. He had not seen what he thought he’d just seen. It wasn’t possible. Even after all the weird shit he’d witnessed in the last couple of days, this was the last straw. Freaky, grinning teenagers did not just disappear into piles of junk.
They’re waiting for you…
He clutched his head for a moment as if squeezing it would pop all of this insanity out of his brain. It didn’t work, so Jason did the next most logical thing that came to mind.
He ran.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
He didn’t calm down until he was back at Stone’s place. The area was parked up pretty good, so he had to find a space a few houses down. He hoped the neighbors in the tony little enclave didn’t have a problem with this junky interloper in the midst of their solidly upper-middle-class vehicles, but at this point that was the least of his problems.
He let himself in through the back door. Mrs. Olivera was in the kitchen, cleaning the counters. She didn’t look up from her work as Jason came in. Glancing at the kitchen clock, he noted that it was getting close to time when Stone would be due back, so he was surprised to hear the mage’s voice from upstairs: “Is that you, Jason?”
“Yeah,” he called.
There was a moment’s pause, then he heard someone coming down. He walked to the hall to meet him. Stone must have been home for a while—he’d swapped his sport jacket for a black Queen T-shirt and jeans. “You’re home early,” Jason said.
Stone nodded. “Meeting ran short, for the first time in recorded history. Out job hunting? Any luck?” He waved Jason toward the living room, out of Mrs. Olivera’s e
arshot.
Jason followed him. He took a deep breath, trying to decide where to start, and then without any warning or preamble, he poured out the whole story of his morning as Stone listened with growing alarm.
When he finished, Stone stared at him. “You’re saying that they—tried to lure you out there by telling you they’d found your sister dead?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yeah. And they nearly succeeded. If I hadn’t realized what a moron I was being in time, we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation now.” He was surprised that he was shaking a little now—even the retelling was spooking him. “Hey, you mind if I have something to drink? This hasn’t been one of my best days.”
“Go for it,” Stone said, shooing him out. He followed him to the sitting room and peppered him with questions as he rummaged in the liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous measure of whatever he got his hands on first. “And this boy you said you saw—”
“Fucking creepy boy,” Jason corrected. “Nightmare fuel creepy.”
“Yes, creepy,” Stone agreed, nodding. “But you say he warned you away—and then disappeared into a solid wall of junk?”
“Yeah.” Jason nodded emphatically. “He just stepped back and—poof!—he was gone!” He met Stone’s gaze. “Do you think I’m going crazy? Do you think I’ve started seeing things? Because people don’t do that in real life.” He paused. “They don’t, right? Can mages—?”
Stone shook his head. “No. We can’t walk through solid objects.”
“So you’re sayin’—what? That I was seeing things? That he was a ghost?” His gaze sharpened. “Are there ghosts? Do you know?”
“No idea,” Stone said, shrugging. “I’ve heard rumors of them. I’ve never seen one personally, but not believing that things are impossible rather goes with the job description in my line of work, so I’m not going to tell you that they don’t exist.”
Jason tossed back his drink, set the glass down, and began kneading his forehead again. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Every time I think I’ve got my mind around it, something else weird—weird and different—happens.”
“Indeed,” Stone said, sitting down in his ratty leather armchair. “As I said, this is all very interesting, and obviously more than a little frightening. And it’s bringing all sorts of questions to mind.”
“Such as—?” Jason took a seat on the overstuffed couch and decided not to pour another drink. It wasn’t even helping this time—his body still vibrated with nervous energy.
“Such as: Who is it that’s after you? Are they after you, specifically? If so, why? Is there something about your sister that whoever this is, they don’t want you to find her?”
“The DMW—” Jason started.
“The DMW are a gang,” Stone said. “A very dangerous and powerful gang to be sure, but I’d wager a lot that they don’t often instigate these sorts of things on their own. But it seems now like they’re actively stalking you. And that troubles me.”
Jason stared at him. “You think there’s something about Verity—?”
“I’ve no idea. I don’t know her—I only know what you’ve told me about her, which hasn’t been much. You said she’s seventeen, and that she’s mentally or emotionally disturbed. Has she always been this way?”
“No,” Jason said, shaking his head. “She was fine when she was a kid. Then something happened a few years back, and she just—kinda—” He spread his arms. “—got strange.”
“Strange in what way?”
“She—sometimes she’d just sit in the room and not say anything. She’d stare out the window and talk to herself. Sometimes she’d be afraid—she’d say that things were after her. She’d drink or smoke dope when she could get away with it—she said it ‘made them go away.’ ” Jason shrugged. “None of us knew what to do with her. Dad really didn’t want to put her in the hospital, but he couldn’t handle her. I know the guilt about it ate him up.”
“Did she ever have any lucid moments? If so, did she remember anything she spoke about? Did you ever ask her what she thought was after her?”
“No. Sure, she’d have lucid moments. But she never remembered any of what she said. When we’d ask her about it, she’d look at us like we were the crazy ones.”
Stone nodded slowly. “And…remember back to the time when she first started showing these symptoms. Do you recall if it came on over time or all at once?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did she seem to grow stranger over a period of a few weeks or months—perhaps having occasional episodes but mostly fine, or did she wake up one morning with this problem?”
Jason thought back. “I’m…not sure,” he said. “It wasn’t overnight, but I’m pretty sure it came on fast. I was in the Academy at the time, so I was away from home a lot.”
“Academy? You were in the military?”
“Police academy,” Jason corrected. He looked away, unable to meet Stone’s eyes. “I—got expelled a year later. I—uh—sort of let my temper get the better of me, and got into a fight with one of the instructors.”
“I see. But getting back to Verity—so this came on fairly quickly, a few years back, you said. Do you remember how many years?”
“Around five. She was twelve at the time. The doctors told Dad it might have something to do with puberty. We never really knew for sure, though.” He looked up at Stone. “Is there some reason you’re asking me all these questions? Do you have some idea in mind?”
“No, not really. I’m just gathering data. I have some thoughts, but nothing concrete and certainly nothing with enough backing to bring it to light yet. Let me mull it over for a bit, and do some research. That’s for later, though. Right now, I think it’s best that we locate your sister and bring her back here before one of you gets in over your head.” He looked Jason up and down. “You look, quite understandably, I might add, like a man who’s just been scared out of his wits. Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a bit, and I’ll put the circle together and call you when it’s ready? There’s really no point in your sitting down there watching. It won’t be any different from what you saw yesterday—in fact, it will likely be even less exciting, since most of it’s already in place. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour or so to get it sorted the rest of the way.”
Jason was all ready to protest, but he realized that he did feel pretty bad, and a chance to calm down a little wouldn’t be such a bad idea. He nodded. “Okay, I’ll do that.” He took a deep breath. “I sure hope this is the end of it. We’ve had so many false alarms…”
“Amen to that,” Stone agreed.
Jason went upstairs to the guest room, switched on the small portable TV for a healthy dose of one hundred percent mundane background noise, and lay down on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he didn’t know if he’d actually get any rest—he certainly wouldn’t sleep, with his mind going a mile a minute—but maybe he could at least get himself calmed down enough that his fight or flight reactions weren’t ready to launch him out the nearest window at the first unidentifiable sound.
The TV was playing a football game. Idly, he rolled on his side so he could watch it for a few minutes. It seemed like it had been years since he’d done anything as normal as watching a football game, and it felt good to do it now even if he was only halfway paying attention to what was going on.
He wondered if Stone would be able to find Verity with the ritual. He hadn’t been able to find Susanna, even with that page of scribblings he’d claimed represented her “essence.” Did the teddy bear contain Verity’s essence? It was a strange concept—but magic in general, at least so far, was pretty damn strange. Every time he got away from Stone, it became harder to convince himself that he’d experienced any of it at all.
He sighed and resumed looking at the ceiling. This wasn’t working at all. “Lying on the bed” did not equate to “resting,” no matter how much he wanted it to. He gave it his best try for five more minutes, half-l
istening as commercials droned on for a local Chevrolet dealership and one of Gordon Lucas’s glitzy charity shindigs, but all he could do was keep thinking about was how much he hoped the ritual would work this time, and wonder how far along Stone was in getting things set up so they could start.
Finally he gave it up as a bad job. He decided he’d just go downstairs, grab a drink, and head on down to the basement. It might be boring, but it couldn’t be any worse than this and at least he’d have somebody to talk to.
He left the bedroom and descended the stairs. Rounding the corner to the kitchen, the first thing that greeted him was the sight of Mrs. Olivera’s not-insignificant posterior shining up at him like a polyester-clad full moon. He stared at her for a moment, confused. She appeared to be rummaging around under the stove with a broom handle. “Uh—hi?” he ventured.
She started, turning her head to look at him without getting up. “Oh. Hello,” she said, smiling. “I’m sorry—this must look strange. I dropped something behind the stove and I was just getting it out.”
“O…kay,” he said, still uncertain. “Need some help?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve got it already.”
Jason nodded, his mind still on the proceedings downstairs. He crossed to the refrigerator, quickly examined the contents and decided on a soda (Stone’s beer preferences were a bit too dark and British for his tastes). He grabbed it and headed out, waving. “See you.”
She didn’t answer, but he, already halfway down the stairs to the basement, barely noticed.
Stone’s filtered voice answered his knock. “Jason?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Give me a minute, I’m almost done with this part.” It was closer to five minutes before the door clicked open.
“How’s it going?” Jason asked, coming in.
“Fine, fine. I figure another fifteen minutes or so to get everything perfect. I don’t want this to fail because I placed a candle wrong.” Stone glanced at Jason, who had sat down with his soda in the same chair he’d used yesterday. “Couldn’t sleep?”
