A knock on the door ended any further explorations into Gabby's twisted psyche. I looked around, but everyone had that edgy look that said they were not at all expecting a pizza, so I put a hand on my pistol as I went to the door. Mort stepped back into the kitchen, and Gabby set her drink down on the coffee table. I didn't see her or Watson's hands, so I figured they had me covered if whatever was on the other side of the door wasn't friendly.
I put my eye to peephole and instantly relaxed. I turned back to the room and motioned for them to be calm, then opened the door wide enough for Officer Santos to come in. "Santos, what brings you out here? And how did you find me, anyway?"
"I looked up Harker's address. I just figured you'd be here." She looked past me into the room. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were having guests..."
"No, it's fine," I said, moving her into the room and closing the door. "It's fine. These are some friends of Harker's. We're working on a way to clear his name."
"Oh yeah, that's your lawyer guy from this morning." Santos pointed at Watson, who nodded.
"And I am Lucas Card; I am Quincy's uncle," Luke said, extending a hand. They shook, and I suppressed a smile as Santos rubbed her hand after. Luke's hands are cold.
"Pleased to meet you," Santos said. "Detective Flynn, can I speak to you for a moment?"
I motioned her into Harker's bedroom. "Sorry, there's not really anyplace else to speak without the group," I said, leaning against the dresser. I didn't bother telling her that Luke could hear us talk through the closed door, and probably through the solid floor if he wanted to.
"What's up, Santos?"
"I just wanted you to know that Director Buprof took over the search at the scene this morning and kicked all our crime scene guys off."
"The scene? You mean Mr. Card's house?"
"Yeah," Santos said. "I'm probably not supposed to say anything, but it seemed really strange to me."
"Strange doesn't even begin to describe it. How long have they been there?" I asked, moving to the door and opening it.
"Only a couple of hours. I came over here as soon as my shift ended."
"Thanks, Santos. We'll head over there now and see what's going on. I appreciate you keeping an eye out for me."
"No problem, Detective. If you need anything, just let me know." She left, and I turned to see Watson standing up and grabbing his suit coat.
"Where do you think you're going, Watson?" I asked.
"Well, since you are almost certainly going to Mr. Card's residence, and he is unable to accompany you thanks to the daytime hour, a fact that your Mr. Buprof is almost certainly aware of, you will need someone with solid legal footing to accompany you. I am that someone."
"What in the world makes you that someone?" I asked.
"I am Mr. Card's legal counsel; therefore, I am his legal proxy in all instances where Mr. Card is unable to attend to his affairs himself, especially when he is indisposed due to a medical condition, such as his extreme reaction to ultraviolet light."
"So since he can't go out in daytime, you get to ride along," I translated.
"Exactly what I said." I was almost starting to like the smug bastard. Almost.
"Fine, come on," I said, turning to the door.
"I'm going, too," Mort said. "But this time I'd like to ride in the car. I don't like motorcycles."
"Maybe you should have thought about that before you hitchhiked into a biker. And no, you're not coming."
He got in front of me. That shit was really getting old. "Yes, I am. If Orobas is there, he'll just kill you. And if this Buprof is a Cambion, he'll probably kill you. If any of the Homeland Security agents are working for Orobas, they'll kill you. Get the picture?"
"Why won't they kill you?" I asked.
"They could try." Mort gave me a look and my blood ran cold. I decided I didn't want to fuck with the scary-looking biker demon, especially since he was more unhinged than normal after losing someone he actually gave a shit about.
"Fine, come on. But you two ride in the car," I said, picking up the helmet and keys Mort put on the table when he walked in. "I'm borrowing your Harley."
9
There are a lot of things that my childhood and early life provided. I had loving parents, wonderful brothers, a very bizarre surrogate grandfather who rambled a lot about monsters and killing them, and eventually a caring albeit equally bizarre uncle. I also had a certain level of celebrity and prosperity unknown to most people, thanks to the events of a certain book about my parents and Uncle Luke.
What I did not have, and had never experienced before, was Friday night high school football. Frankly, I didn't have football at all until well into adulthood and didn't start paying attention to it until I was over ninety years old. When you don't really age, you get to take your time exploring hobbies, and I had a lot going throughout most of the twentieth century.
So when I stepped out of my pickup in the Lockton High School parking lot the next night, I was completely unprepared for what I found. There were tents, vans, grills, the whole nine yards. It looked more like what I’d seen on TV of a college tailgate than a clash of high school athletes. There were banners pledging allegiance to one player or another, signs proclaiming what the Lions should do to the Ravens, the mascot of the rival du jour Warren G. Harding High School.
My head was on a swivel as I walked through the promenade of insanity, looking not just at the spectacle of teen sports, but also keeping an eye out for any sign of supernatural influence. I couldn't just wander around with my Sight active, because it blurred my normal vision and there was too much going on for me to be distracted and stay safe, so I cast a minor detection spell on myself before I entered the throng, hoping that anything hinky I encountered wouldn't be immediately malevolent.
I made my way to the concession stand without incident, grabbed a jumbo soda and a popcorn, then made my way to a seat in the home grandstand. I settled in behind an African-American family decked out in red and black with lion paws painted on their faces and a giant red foam finger on the hand of an octogenarian matriarch. I assumed they were there supporting #5, the starting quarterback, mostly because the parent-aged man and woman wore jerseys with the number on them. I figured they would be enthusiastic enough to hide my lack of jumping up and down.
The game started, and I saw what Rocco was worried about. The Lions looked like they were matched up against the other school's junior varsity team. Actually, it looked more like a college team playing against middle schoolers, the strength and speed levels were so disparate. After a perfect forty-yard pass for the third touchdown of the first quarter, I leaned down to the proud father in front of me.
"Your son?" I asked, pointed to the number on his jersey.
"Yeah, that's my boy, Javon Henderson. Remember that name, mister. You're gonna hear it on TV some Sunday."
"If he keeps playing like that, I believe it," I agreed. "How long has he been a starter here?"
"This is his first year," his dad said. "He's just a sophomore, and we've already got scouts calling from Ohio State, Miami of Ohio, Penn State, and Notre Dame. Just think about, buddy. My boy might play quarterback for Notre Dame."
I didn't bother telling him that Notre Dame was also the training ground for all the exorcists in North America. That wasn't on the list of things he needed to worry about. "That's great. He's got a ton of talent." I patted the man on the shoulder and leaned back. I wasn't joking. The kid had talent. The kind of talent that gets college graduates drafted in the first round into the NFL. Not the kind of talent that a fifteen-year-old kid from Ohio shows off in his first year of varsity ball. I didn't have to grow up with football to see that something was making these kids better than they had any right to be. Something that in all likelihood had a much darker side.
It was late in the third quarter, with the third string offense on the field and a three-touchdown lead for the Lions, when I felt it. Something was probing me. Something magical. I looked around but didn't see
anything that looked out of the ordinary. The Lockton third-string running back broke loose and headed for the end zone, bringing the whole stadium to its feet. I used the confusion to mask me opening my Sight and sweeping the crowd for my magical Peeping Tom.
With the Otherworld laid over the mundane world, active or latent magic lit up like a miniature sun to me. With no surprise at all, I saw that three quarters of the football team glowed like sparklers on the Fourth of July, as did almost the entire coaching staff. As I kept looking around the stadium, there were two surprises to my magical vision. First, the quarterback didn't exhibit any signs of magical ability or tampering. He was just that damn good. And second, there was a woman in the stands giving off enough magical energy to power Cleveland. And of course, she was staring right at me.
My cover blown, I slipped out of the crush of humanity with as little fuss as possible, managing to only kick over one oversized soda on my way to the aisle. I hustled up the stands to the exit and through the gate into the parking lot without incident and thought I was at least close to home free when I felt a pulse of energy whizz by me and saw the tire of a battered Ford Focus to my left melt under the assault of a walnut-sized fireball.
"Goddamn it, just one time I want to have shit work out the way I plan," I muttered and turned around. There was nothing surprising in what I saw—the woman I saw in the stands glowing like a Christmas tree was standing in the parking lot glaring at me. She was a pretty woman, mid-twenties with long dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail, jeans, a cream-colored sweater with a purple scarf, and hiking boots. If she didn't open conversations by hurling balls of fire at me, she looked like somebody I might enjoy talking books with. Except that all my reading lately had been on the summoning or banishing of demons, so my literary conversation game was kinda lacking.
"Can I help you?" I called out. She was still about fifty feet away, and I was okay with that. I didn't want to blow my cover and get into a big magical duel with a thousand or more townsfolk just a couple hundred yards away.
"What are you doing?" she asked. She started walking toward me, and I started walking backward, keeping the distance between us the same.
"I'm walking away so you don't blow up any of these cars if you miss again."
"I didn't miss. Consider that a warning shot." She reared back and flung another mini-fireball at me. The burning projectile zipped at me with a lot more velocity than my bigger fireballs, making me scramble to throw up a shield and deflect the burning orb into the ground. It exploded with a huge flash, and I blinked to clear the glare from my eyes.
When I could see again, the woman was right in front of me, a glowing sword of energy emanating from each fist. I pulled my shield in from a big curved tower in front of me into a more traditional buckler radiating out from my forearm and blocked her first slash easily. It turned out to be a distraction, though, and I barely avoided the stabbing thrust from her other hand.
"You're good at this," I said with a grunt, wrapping both of my arms in auras of energy and using them to slap her strikes away. I didn't want to hurt her until I knew she was evil. After all, an inappropriate body count was one of the reasons I was stuck in Lockton in the first place. I mean, Smitty definitely needed killing, but in hindsight I might have been just a little too public with the whole shooting a federal agent in the face thing. I was determined not to kill anyone in Lockton unless I knew for sure they were evil. And hopefully not well-connected.
"I've killed a lot of demons, asshole," the woman replied, shooting out a kick at my left knee. I checked the kick, but took a stinging shot to my shin as a result. She was too good for me to keep pulling my punches. If I didn't cut loose soon, she was going to get a shot through my defenses, and that would be bad. But if I did cut loose, I'd probably kill her, which might be worse.
I went very low to get under a head strike, then dropped her to her butt with a leg sweep. She went down with a whoof, and I had the time I needed.
"Silencio!" I said, dropping my shields and tossing tendrils of power out at her like Spider-Man's webbing. Strands of magical power flowed from my fingertips and wrapped around her face, tying her mouth closed.
"Restrictus," I said, aiming the flow of my power down her body. More tendrils of energy flowed out of me, wrapping her entire body in glowing ropes of power. Trussed up like a turkey, my mystery attacker struggled against her bonds, but spinning the bonds out of my own energy instead of the life-force of people or things around me gave me two advantages.
One, I wasn't draining anyone of the energy of their life and soul. That wasn't my thing, if I could help it. Two, if she fought against the bonds, I could just throw more power at them and keep her tied up as long as I had the reserves. Which wasn't going to be long, given my current energy levels. I still wasn't anywhere close to recovered from opening the Gate, and I could feel the toll this little duel was taking on my magical energy.
I bent over, hoisted my attacker up across my shoulders in a fireman's carry, and started walking up the hill to the school. I saw a security guard heading our way about a hundred yards away, and whispered "inconspicuous" under my breath. I let out a little more power into a little "ignore me" cloud around me, encouraging anyone who saw me to see exactly what they expected to see and not to take notice of anything I did. It wasn't a foolproof spell by any stretch; anyone with no real preconceived notions of what is "normal" wouldn't be affected, but I figured it would be good enough to fool a busy security guard at a distance.
I was right. The guard turned around and went back to the game, convinced that we were nothing he was interested in. I used the copy of Rocco's key I'd made just for tonight's adventures, and a couple of minutes later, I deposited my bundle of pissed-off witch onto the floor of "my" classroom.
I looked down at the scowling woman. "I'm going to let you go now, but I want to make a couple of things clear first. I am not the bad guy, so if you think I'm a demon, then you're barking up the wrong tree. I'm here to help. Also, there aren't any innocents around now, so I'm not going to pull any more punches. You try to throw another fireball at me, I'll shove it so far up your ass light will shine out of your ears. You get me?"
She nodded, and I released the magic binding her. She instantly scrambled to her feet and backed up, putting most of the classroom between us, then muttered a brief incantation and surrounded herself with a shield of power, ostensibly keeping me from putting any magical bonds on her again. She didn't have to worry about that. If this conversation didn't go well, I didn’t have enough energy left to tie her up magically, I was just going to shoot her.
10
We rolled up to Luke's house about ten minutes later, and it looked even worse after I'd had a little time away from it. The place was crawling with men and women in Homeland Security windbreakers and stupid dress shoes that should never be worn to muck around explosion sites. I put down the kickstand on Mort’s motorcycle and two agents were on me like bodyguards on paparazzi.
"You can't be here, ma'am," the first no-neck agent said.
"Get back on your bike, Detective. This is a Homeland Security matter now," the second one followed.
"This is so far from a Homeland Security matter it's funny," I said. "Get me Buprof."
"The director isn't available right now, ma'am," No Neck One said.
"Get in the vehicle, Detective," No Neck Two said, putting his right hand on my shoulder. That was a bad idea. I grabbed his wrist in my right hand, ducked under his arm and twisted it around behind him in a hammerlock. I pushed down on the back of his head with my left hand and slammed his face into the roof of my car. His knees buckled and he went down.
I whipped out my handcuffs and had him bound in three more seconds, then I stood up, my Sig in my hand. "The next motherfucker that decides assaulting a police officer is a good idea is going to have a much worse day than this jackass. Are we clear?"
The three agents approaching my car immediately stopped and put their hands up. I nodded and hol
stered my weapon. I looked down at No Neck Two and asked, "Are you going to behave, or do I have to leave you like that?"
He glared at me but didn't say anything. "Fine," I said. "See if you can convince one of your pals to uncuff you." I stomped off toward the wreckage with Mort and Watson in tow, only to see a highly agitated Deputy Director Buprof moving in my direction, all red-faced and blustery. I steeled myself for the inevitable confrontation, and he didn't disappoint.
"What the ever-loving fuck do you think you're doing here, Detective? You're suspended! Hell with suspended, you’re fucking fired! And you sure as fuck need to get the fuck out of my crime scene. You've got no legal right to be here, so get your little friends here and go." He stood there tapping his foot, arms folded across his belly, barely holding in his dress shirt from the strain.
"While you are partially correct, Director, you are, like so many Americans, rushing to judgement. As Mr. Card's counsel and his legal proxy, I am certainly within my rights to be here, accompanied by whatever assistants I require to complete my assessment of the damages to his property as I deem necessary." Watson stepped forward, a business card in his outstretched hand. "Watson, as I’m sure you’ll recall. Jack Watson. I am the solicitor on retainer for Mr. Card and his enterprises."
Buprof looked at the card in his hand, then at Watson, then at Mort. "The fuck you think this is, some kind of a joke?"
"I assure you, Director, I am deadly serious. We are here to conduct a thorough inspection of Mr. Card's property for the purposes of his insurance coverage and would appreciate it if you and your people would vacate the premises while we did so."
"Yeah, like that's going to happen. Fuck off, you gimpy little prick," Buprof said, giving Watson a shove on one shoulder. He took a step backward, his foot came down on a piece of rubble, and his lost his footing with his prosthetic leg. He went down to one knee, catching himself with one hand before he went sprawling. My hand drifted to the butt of my pistol, but I didn't draw. Yet.
Heaven Help Us (Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter Book 7) Page 6
