“Nice,” Aggie said.
Quinn shook his head and pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. It looked like something torn out of a telephone book. “After what you said to me about the Kreers, Amiri and I did a little poking around at the airport. Here’s their address. We tried talking to the guys you saw—didn’t mention the targets, so don’t worry—but they weren’t much for sharing. Old loggers minding their own business. Or acting like it, anyway.”
“Those kind usually make the worst busibodies.” Aggie parked at the side of the road and checked the address against the map. It was impossible to tell just how isolated the Kreers were. She wished Charlie was here; she needed to run a little reconnaissance. Maybe Amiri would be good for that. She had not worked much with the shape-shifter, but she had heard stories. He was fast and silent. Deadly. The reputation did not jibe with his schoolteacher personality, but hey—all of them had their masks.
Either way, you’ll just have to make do. Charlie will be here when he can.
Right. Only, she still couldn’t shake her worry that he was in trouble. If only he had been in some kind of pseudo-physical form that she could have seen; a reading of his future would have been easy. She would have known, maybe, what was going to happen to him. Of course, her ability to gauge Charlie’s future had been spotty from the beginning. Every time she looked at him, all she saw was sex. Which was great, but kind of pathetic.
She poked the map with her finger. “Based on this, the Kreers live fairly close to town, right across the Sauk River.”
“Let’s do a drive-by, then,” Quinn said.
The town itself was small and plain; Aggie did not guess there were many jobs around. It reminded her of growing up in Idaho, surrounded by enough natural beauty to shake a stick at, but not much in the way of money to decorate that stick. Tourism and construction seemed to be the main sources of income; that, and logging. Aggie also saw a lot of churches. The parking lots were full. Services. Sunday.
She wondered which one Mrs. Kreer and her son attended.
“What time is it?” Aggie asked.
“Not quite eleven,” Amiri said.
Aggie gave the car a little more gas. “The Kreers go to church. It’s Sunday. They just might be out of the house.”
Quinn made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Won’t be for long. Not unless they take a lunch out.”
Aggie glanced at the men. “So, you guys feeling lucky? Or how about just crazy?”
“I believe crazy is part of the job,” Amiri said dryly. “Or so I was warned.”
“Speak for yourself,” Quinn told him. “This work is the only sane thing I’ve ever done.”
Which might be true for Aggie, as well, but she did not want to think too hard on it. She’d had a normal upbringing, a stable family, but none of that had ever been enough—until she found Dirk & Steele. A job she loved. An insane job, with insane risks. She would not trade it for the world.
They crossed the Sauk River and drove up a road that curled higher into the mountain, looming white and sharp above their heads—immense, cold, its stark beauty intensified by blue sky and glittering sun. Warmth; Aggie tried to feel it through the window on her face, but sunlight did not compare to Charlie.
Where are you?
Ten minutes of driving, and they passed the Kreers’ long driveway, a gravel track that curved out of sight inside the trees. Their name was painted on the mailbox. Aggie drove another minute, then pulled over on the narrow shoulder. Amiri began unbuttoning his shirt.
Aggie and Quinn stepped out of the car, listening hard.
“I think we’re clear,” she said. “Amiri?”
The shape-shifter pushed open the back door on the side near the woods. He was completely naked. Golden light streamed down the long lines of his body, and Aggie watched, breathless, as fur rippled from his torso, his hard thighs. Claws burst from his fingernails.
And then Amiri was gone, and a cheetah stood in his place. The cat twitched its tail, gave them a look that was pure man, and then slipped silently into the forest. Aggie watched him leave, her vision shifting, and saw his future: the edge of a clearing, a small two-story white house. Different angles of the house, different variations. She did not see a car, but that meant nothing. One of the Kreers could still be at home.
“I never get tired of that,” Quinn said.
“Ditto,” Aggie said absently, as the vision cut off. She thought of Charlie. Wondered what he looked like. He said he was ugly. She doubted that. Different was never ugly. She sighed, and felt Quinn look at her.
“Aggie,” he said quietly. “Is there anything wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
He just waited, and Aggie shook her head. “Everything’s fine.”
“I don’t believe that. You’re not telling me everything about this case.”
Well, at least he had waited until Amiri was gone to pin her down—for what good that did him. “I can’t talk about it, Quinn. There are…elements involved.”
“And?”
“And that’s it. It’s not my story to tell.”
Quinn leaned back against the car. “It’s a man.”
“What?”
“There’s a man involved.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Aggie gritted her teeth. “Just leave it alone, okay? I haven’t held anything back from you that could endanger us.”
“That’s because you don’t know jack shit. I can tell. All you’ve got is a situation, maybe a vision, and now an address. Someone put you up to this.”
Aggie said nothing. It was the truth, and she could not lie to Quinn. She could, however, divert—and she was prepared to do just that when warmth spread down her neck and back, a fire that flowed right down into her lower stomach. Aggie shuddered. Quinn said, “Are you okay?”
She was more than okay. Charlie was back, and the joy and relief she felt in that made her woozy. She was becoming a total basket case, and all because of a man…gargoyle…whatever.
“I’m fine,” she said, and then, inside her head, Welcome back.
Deep inside her ear, a whisper, as Charlie said, “I won’t be for long.”
Why? Are you in trouble?
He did not answer. Aggie threw her frustration at him, all her fear and worry, and he said, “It means a lot to me that you care.”
Then give me the truth.
“I can’t.”
“Aggie,” Quinn said, more insistent this time.
“Wait,” she said, and to Charlie: I need to tell Quinn about you. This won’t work if I don’t.
A lot of things would not work if she could never tell her friends about him. She had enough secrets in her life.
The warmth around her body disappeared, and in its place ran a sense of longing, homesickness, a memory of heat and light and goodness wrapped tight around her soul. She missed him. She did not understand why she felt that loss so strongly, but she did not question it. The feeling was too elemental, as natural as breathing, the beat of her heart. She could not distrust something that felt as innate and instinctive as the desire to live.
And then, right in front of her, Charlie materialized: a large man-shaped body of moving shadows. No face, no defining features of any kind. Just darkness. Quinn jumped, gasping.
Thank you, Aggie thought, and touched her partner’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she said. Quinn did not relax. His fingers twitched—a futile attempt at telekinesis, maybe. She did not think anything like that could work on Charlie. Her vision shifted; she saw a probable immediate future of calm acceptance, even a smile or two. She breathed easier. “Quinn, really. This is Charlie. He’s the person I couldn’t tell you about. He’s not dangerous.”
“Depends on who you talk to,” Charlie said, and held out his shadowed hand. Quinn stared at it, and then, with a wild look at Aggie, reached out slowly to shake. He flinched when he touched Charlie, who said, “Sorry about the grip. I don’t have
much of one.”
Quinn’s fingers passed through Charlie. “But you’re warm.”
“Um, yes,” he said.
“Okay.” Quinn took back his hand. “This is weird.”
Aggie raised her brow. “We’re psychic detectives. We work with shape-shifters.”
“It’s still weird. And hey, did you tell him about us?”
“I’m a mind reader in this form,” Charlie said. “She didn’t have to tell me.”
“So, what are you?” Quinn asked Charlie, and Aggie could see his fear drowning in rabid curiosity. “Are you a ghost? Something else? Are you…I don’t know, astral-projecting?”
“Not quite,” Charlie said. “Close, though. But, um, we should go. Now. The house is empty. Or it was. I went there first to check on Emma.”
Aggie did not hesitate. She jumped into the car and Quinn crawled into the backseat, forgoing the passenger side for expedience. Aggie gunned the engine and peeled back onto the road, roaring at high speed until she hit the Kreer driveway and pulled hard on the wheel. Quinn yelped, sliding. The back tires churned gravel.
“Amiri?” Quinn said, trying to get his balance.
“He’ll have to catch up. Shouldn’t be difficult.”
And it wasn’t. Aggie caught glimpses of a golden body inside the trees as they neared the end of the driveway. Running, running, and…
—she saw Amiri, naked, standing beside their overturned vehicle, struggling to pull her bleeding body through the window. Quinn lay very still on the ground nearby—
The probabilities were high, but she saw another variation: Amiri running beside their vehicle as it sped across the grass.
The trees ended on the edge of the clearing. Beyond, a green meadow cut by the driveway, and beyond that, the house from her earlier vision. Memories of the future, colliding in her head. Danger, danger. She glanced down at the speedometer. Sixty miles an hour. She slammed on the brakes.
“Shit!” Quinn hit the back of her seat. “What happened?”
“Something bad if I didn’t stop. Look at the driveway ahead of us. Do you see anything out of the ordinary?”
Quinn kneeled on the seat and peered over her shoulder out the windshield. “No.”
“Neither do I. That’s the problem.”
She turned her attention on Quinn. Less than a minute from now he was still fine. In all the variations, fine. Though in thirty percent of them he stood outside the car, looking down at the ground. Gazing at—
“The driveway is booby-trapped,” Aggie said. “Spike sticks. Would have blown out our tires, and at the speed I was going…”
“Are you kidding?”
“I wish.”
“What the fuck is this? I thought these people were well-respected. Don’t they get company?”
“Maybe they leave them only when they’re out of the house. In this area, I doubt they’re alone in doing that. People take security into their own hands. Hell, when I was growing up, our next door neighbor rigged a tripwire in front of his door and kept bear traps on the lawn. He didn’t want the kids kicking soccer balls on his grass.”
“I need to talk to you about your childhood.” Quinn looked around. “Where’s Charlie?”
“He’s probably at the house with Emma. At least, I hope he is.”
Quinn grunted. “You like him.”
“Yes.”
“Uh-huh. You see those spike sticks?”
“No.” Aggie drove off the driveway into the meadow and cut a wide swathe through the thick grass. “And I’m not going to take the time looking for them.”
“They’ll know someone’s been here when they get back. You’re leaving tracks.”
“What are they going to do? Call the police?”
“No, but I hope that’s what we’re planning on doing.”
“As soon as we’ve got Emma out of that house, we’ll park our asses and dial nine-one-one.”
“This is a terrible plan.”
“Yes,” Aggie agreed.
Amiri burst out of the woods, racing ahead of them to the house—a golden spotted arrow, lean and precise; surreal, magical. Aggie soaked it in, refusing to take the moment for granted. She was practicing for Charlie.
The Kreer home looked very clean and simple. A farmhouse. Very little decoration. Red geraniums poked up out of the ground, along with some ferns. Aggie parked the car. Quinn got out first. Aggie sat and watched him and Amiri, tasting the future.
Nothing bad, nothing dangerous. She let out her breath, slow.
Amiri did not change shape. He slipped up the front steps and sniffed the door. Aggie followed him. She did not go for her gun. No need, yet. She did, however, pull some latex gloves from her pocket and snap them on. She handed a pair to Quinn. If she had her way, this house was going to be crawling with cops in less than an hour, and she didn’t want any of their prints getting confused with the Kreers’.
The front door was locked. Quinn pulled a pick set from his pocket and got to work. It was an old mechanism; he tripped it within seconds and the door swung open. Aggie made the men wait before going in. She watched their bodies and in all the variations saw them moving free and alive through the darkened home.
They entered a long hall lined with framed photographs. A staircase was on their right, and to their left, a few steps away, a sliding door. Aggie pushed it open and saw cameras.
Warmth surrounded her body. Charlie materialized. Amiri laid back his ears and growled.
“He’s a friend,” she said to him. Then to Charlie, “Where’s Emma?”
“Follow me,” he said.
“Quinn,” Aggie prompted, and watched him pull a tiny digital camera from his pocket.
“On it,” he said, and began snapping pictures. Amiri stayed with him. His eyes glowed as he watched Aggie leave with Charlie.
“I missed you,” Charlie said when they were away from the others.
Unexpected. Her breath caught. “I missed you, too.”
“This might be the last time we get to see each other.”
Aggie stumbled. “What?”
Charlie said nothing. They reached a door that had duct tape around its edges and a rolled towel pushed up against it on the floor.
“Emma is expecting us,” he said. “I told her you were coming.”
“Charlie.”
He moved, wrapping his shadowy arms around her body. Warmth sank deep into her skin, flooding her mouth—like a kiss. And then it was gone and Charlie said, “No time. Go to her.”
Aggie choked back her questions; her eyes felt hot, wet. She didn’t know why she wanted to cry, but her heart was aching, throbbing. She unlocked the basement door and jerked it open, tape ripping away from the walls. Light flooded the basement, and in front of her, waiting on the steps, was a little girl, blonde and pale and delicate. Her eyes, though—her eyes were old. Piercing.
“Emma,” Charlie said. “This is Agatha. She’s going to help you.”
Aggie reached out her hand and waited for the girl to come to her. She knew Emma would; the variations of all probable futures were quite certain on that, but Aggie did not want to push. The girl had been pushed enough by adults and strangers.
Emma studied her face with grave intent, and took Aggie’s hand. Her skin was cool and damp, but Aggie drew her from the darkness and tried not to show her surprise when the child wrapped her arms around her hips and hugged her tight.
“Thank you,” the child murmured, and Aggie bent down and picked her up.
She was lighter than she looked; frail, almost. Her breath whistled in Aggie’s ear. She smelled like cement, mold, decay.
Charlie stood unmoving, watching. Featureless and smooth, like a warrior wrapped in black cloth, head to foot. Aggie pushed her mind and saw a room with sand and blood, sand and statues, bloody stone, with bits of flesh hanging in threads and chunks, draped on wings.
She swayed and Charlie said, “No, don’t. I don’t want you to see.”
“Charlie?” Emma a
sked, and he reached out to touch her face. The little girl closed her eyes and buried her face against Aggie’s neck.
Later, she said to him, and then remembered his words, his kiss. There would be no later.
Where’s your body? Aggie asked him as she carried Emma away from the basement.
“Agatha.” His voice was quiet, right in her ear. Maybe they were talking mind to mind.
You tell me, Charlie.
“There’s nothing you can do.”
You let me be the judge of that.
“No. I won’t risk you getting hurt.” She wanted to kill him for saying that, and he said, “I’m already dead.”
Again, not what she wanted to hear.
Quinn was still in the living room. He had pulled some tapes from the shelves, and had a folder full of photographs spread on the table. Aggie glimpsed flesh in those, and looked away—she did not want Emma to see any of that. Amiri prowled around the room, tail lashing the air. The little girl stiffened when she saw him, and Aggie whispered, “It’s okay. He’s a good cat.”
“Are you guys ready?” Aggie asked, and Quinn nodded. His face was hard, eyes too bright—
—and then a shift—Quinn screaming at her to run, run, get out—
“They’re coming,” Aggie said.
“They’re already here,” Charlie corrected. Aggie went to the window and peered outside. She saw Mrs. Kreer and her son opening the trunk of their car. Caught sight of a rifle.
“Armed?” Quinn asked, and Aggie thought of those tire tracks she had left in the tall grass.
“Oh, yeah.”
Quinn shook his head. “These people are too hardcore. Most in this business are cowards. They run. They lay low. They don’t fight. Not like this, anyway. So they see a car out there. Maybe we’re not in it, but that’s no call for violence. They can’t know for certain we’re inside their home or that we’re here to bust them.”
“Logic doesn’t matter, Quinn. They have something big to lose, not to mention they’re a lot crazier than your average insane person. Shooting someone isn’t going to mean much.” Not when they had already killed Emma’s mother, and maybe others over the years.
“It’s worse than that,” Charlie added, in a hard voice that sent chills up her spine. “They’re not entirely human.”
A Dream of Stone & Shadow Page 8
