Greywalker g-1

by Kat Richardson

  He stopped speaking and I lurched up. I stumbled forward. He didn't touch me, but walked me to the shop door and to the edge of the street. He rolled his shoulders and settled back into his modern guise as he stood beside me.

  "Feelin OK?" he inquired.

  I choked on an answer, gulping in normality and trying not to throw up.

  "You're resting your hand on your belly and I can tell you're not pregnant. Weak stomach?"

  I stammered against the bile in my throat. "I'm not a horror-movie fan and I've got too good an imagination."

  "You asked. You'll be all right?"

  "Just peachy," I gritted.

  "Good. You need anything, call me. I want to watch him writhing in agony, the same way he left me."

  I stepped away and walked to the corner, crossing the street against the light. I wanted to rush, to run, but didn't dare until I could no longer see Carlos.

  I hurried to the Rover and crawled in, locking the door behind me. My belly clenched with cramps and nausea, my limbs shook and my headache shrieked.

  Halfway across the bridge to home, the cramps began to ease, but the rest stayed with me.

  Once in bed, I slept hard, but not restfully: first too deeply, then tumbled by nightmares. I got up once to vomit, then collapsed into bed again until eleven.

  I felt only a little better when I finally got up. I showered for a time under near-scalding water. Chaos looked into the tub, but chose not to join me. When I got out of the shower, she licked my feet ankles dry while dancing around me. The water is always sweeter off of someone else's feet, and I laughed at her antics, even though it made my abs and head hurt.

  I finished dressing, feeling bruised, putting on a skirt when the restrictive touch of jeans reminded me of ropes and sweat-tight sheets. Chaos and I contested for my breakfast until I declared victory by putting her back into her cage before I left for my office.

  Lenore Fabrette called at 3:12. She was waiting to drive onto a ferry in Bremerton and needed directions. I gave them and said I'd look forward to seeing her soon. She tapped on my door a few minutes before five.

  She was a too-thin woman with straw hair, her shoulders hunched against routine cruelty.

  I stood up and extended my hand. "Ms. Fabrette? I'm Harper Blaine. Please sit down."

  She sagged into the client chair. "Can we just get this over with? I've been arguing with the navy all day and I just want to get home."

  "Sure. Can I ask you a question?"

  "Oh, sure. I guess."

  "Do you remember anything unusual about the organ?"

  She pinched her lower lip with nicotine-stained fingers. "Aside from how ugly it was? Not much but that it was god-awful and it used to give my boy nightmares."

  "Nightmares? How old is your son?"

  "He's twelve now. He was six when we moved in. And I just hope that museum isn't having any trouble with it. 'Cause I don't want it back." Fabrette picked at her lip. "So, do you want to see these papers or what?" she asked, laying her hand on her purse in her lap.

  "Sure."

  She pulled out an envelope and slapped it onto the desk.

  "There. Take a look, then tell me what you think."

  I pulled two sheets of photocopy from the envelope. One was an insurance appraisal, which put a value of twenty-five hundred dollars on the organ. The other sheet was the receipt for the donation of an organ with a description that seemed to match the one I had from Sergeyev.

  "Damn," I snickered, staring at the letterhead on the donation receipt.

  "What's the matter?" Fabrette demanded, reaching for the sheets.

  "The organ was donated to the Madison Forrest Historical House Museum, here in Seattle," I said.

  She cringed back a little. "So what's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing. It's just… The organ was in Seattle for twenty years, moved to Anacortes for ten, and then came right back to within three miles of where we're sitting."

  "Does that mean you don't want those papers?"

  "Oh, no. I want them and my client wants them and you've been very helpful to bring them to me." I shoved the papers into a drawer and pulled out a check I'd already prepared. I held it out to her. "That's the payment my client authorized. I just need you to sign this receipt for me," I added, pushing over the form and a pen.

  She looked at the check, then stared at me. "That's five hundred dollars," she whispered. "Are you sure that's right?"

  "Yes, that's right. Just sign the receipt, please."

  Mute, she clutched the pen and scrawled quickly on the form.

  She raised her eyebrows as she handed the paper back to me. "Are you sure?"

  I took it and put it in the drawer with the donation receipt. I smiled at her. "Yes, I am. Thank you for coming down here, Lenore. You've been a lot of help."

  She nodded, mute, and got to her feet, edging out the door as if I might turn on her and snatch the check away.

  As the door clicked closed, I shook my head, swallowing pity she wouldn't have appreciated.

  An hour later, I'd put Fabrette out of my mind as I plowed through routine chores. I was down in the lower drawers looking for more fanfold paper for my printer when I heard the door. "Just a second," I called, grabbing the paper and pulling it up with me. I knocked my skull on the bottom of the desk. I raised my head, shaking back momentary giddiness, and found a man standing just behind the client chair. I blinked at him.

  He was still and cold as wax, wearing a very plain dark suit and a white shirt with a strange collar that was buttoned all the way to his throat, but no tie. He was skinny, but had a round face with broad, flat cheekbones and slightly tilted eyes in translucent skin. His hair was dark brown. He blinked back at me. His left hand fluttered up over his coat buttons and rested on his chest.

  "I have startled you," he said. His odd accent gave him away.

  "Mr. Sergeyev. I didn't know you were in town."

  "For little time, only. You make progress? Of my request?"

  I sat down and waved him to the other chair. "Well, yes, I have," I started. Some partially formed thought flashed into my brain and vanished before I could apprehend it. "I just spoke to the woman who had the information I asked you to authorize payment for," I said, trying to shake my brains back into their normal function.

  "Ah. Good." Sergeyev sat very upright on the chair, not quite leaning forward, but stiff nonetheless. I wondered if the airline seats had hurt his back.

  "I…" I trailed off, thoughts slipping sideways. The day and the night before were catching up to me; my stomach was clenching and my head throbbing again. Something flickered in the corner of my vision. I turned my head a little to find it, and Sergeyev vanished. "Huh?" I grunted and turned my head back toward him.

  He was frowning at me. "Something is wrong? You do not feel well."

  "It's nothing." I turned to my computer and tapped at the key-hoard a moment, buying time, feeling unsteady.

  The thin world of the Grey flooded up in cold steam as I peered sideways at my client. He was there, layered on himself like a multiple exposure, the mist-world rippling around him. I yanked myself away from the flood, and it reduced to a trickle and a transient flicker. After last night, the figurative gum of the Grey must have been pretty thick on me, and I didn't want any more building up. And I wanted my unsettling client out of my office as soon as possible. "I have a further lead, which may be the last link in the chain of ownership."

  "Then you know where is my furniture?" he asked. His voice rose with excitement.

  "I might."

  "Tell me." His voiced pushed on me, resonating in my chest and head. I pushed back against it. I'd been pushed on a lot lately, and I wasn't in the mood for it. I dug in my mental heels and resisted his demand for all I was worth.

  "I want to be certain. It could turn out to be just another link and I don't want to get your hopes up for nothing."

  He scowled and I shivered. "When will you know?"

  I poked my computer
, which showed me a picture of rolling static.

  "I'll be blunt, Mr. Sergeyev. I can't do anything about your case until Tuesday. The party involved won't be available any earlier. Then I still have to confirm that it is the organ you want and see if the owner is even willing to negotiate on it. They might not be."

  He seemed surprised. "They would not?"

  "I don't know yet. Let me find out a little more, then we can discuss it. I'll do what I can. Trust me—I'll call you when I have something more to tell you."

  "Ah, well. So be it," There was that push again, but I could taste anger and annoyance in it this time. "I expect hearing from you Tuesday evening." He rose to his feet like a piece of spring steel unbending.

  I got up, beat him to the door, and opened it for him. He went out with a cold little nod to me. In the dim light of the hallway, he seemed bigger. The darkness swallowed him up as he descended the stairs. The bang on the back of my skull seemed to have rattled something loose in my head and I felt a little stupid. I went back to my chair behind the desk and stared at the computer screen.

  The screen prompt asked if I wanted to view recorded video. I clicked on YES. I saw the room on the screen, the desk, myself at the desk, the empty chair on the other side. Maybe the last fifteen minutes had not been saved? I didn't like it. I'd have to call Quinton, but I had a feeling he wouldn't make me feel any better.

  My head hurt, but the butterflies in my insides calmed. I wondered if I was just hungry. I trotted out for a bite. It was a little chilly and the evening breeze was kicking up, but I decided to sit outside for a few minutes while I ate, hoping to clear my head a bit. But I just got cold and wolfed my food, which made my stomach ache, and I wished I'd worn the jeans after all, instead of the skirt.

  Cameron drifted into my office a few minutes before nine thirty. I noticed he didn't exude the halo and draining Grey effects of Carlos and Alice. Odd.

  "How's it going?" I asked as he sat down.

  "It's OK. Sarah and I worked out a sleeping arrangement at her house, but it's only temporary. I'm going to have to find something of my own before her boyfriend gets back."

  "Any idea when that will be?"

  He shrugged. "Not sure. Could be as early as June."

  I gave him a faint, false smile. "We'll just have to work fast then. I told you I talked to Alice last night, right?"

  "Yeah. How'd it go?"

  "Scary. She thinks I should kill Edward, or incite the other vampires of Seattle to do it."

  "Umm… you're not really thinking about it, are you?"

  "No. But it did give me an idea. Alice mentioned that vampires have a pack mentality and they will attack their leader if they sense he's sick or weak. That's what Alice wants so she can step into the breach once Edward is down." "Oh, man… I thought she was my friend! That scheming—"

  I interrupted. "Don't get too hot under the collar. A coup is fine for Alice, but for you to get anything out of this, Edward has to stay in charge. We can't trust Alice to do anything for you, but Edward has more to lose. So I'm going to stir up trouble, but not enough that it can't be allayed by the right sort of gesture—like showing that he's capable of being a nice guy by taking you back. Of course, anything else I can dig up which will help push him that direction, I'll take, but I'm not going to be handing it over to Alice."

  "Did you stir up any trouble yet?"

  "Not trouble, but something. After I talked to you, I met with Carlos. Alice sent me to him, but frankly, he frightens me a lot more than she does."

  "Oh, yeah. Even some of the vampires are afraid of him."

  "From the story he told me, they ought to be. And Edward, too. Carlos is willing to risk helping us because he hates Edward that much."

  "He does?"

  "Yes, and Alice hates Edward, too—though it's more an expression of ambition with her. Hate seems to be the point on which everything turns, so that's what I'll push on. But we have to be careful. I cannot risk losing control of the situation to Alice or Carlos, which means you have to disappear for a while."

  "I'm not going to get in your way or do something stupid," Cameron objected.

  "That's not the problem, Cam. I don't want you to get hurt if anything goes wrong, and I don't want you used against me. Once the mud starts to swirl around, Edward is bound to start looking for a person holding a stick. We don't want him to think that's you."

  "But what about you? Won't he hurt you, too?"

  "It's possible, but that's what you're paying me for."

  "Man," he said, shaking his head, "maybe I shouldn't have asked you to do this. Maybe I should drop it."

  "We can, if that's what you want… but one of the things Carlos told me makes me think you have no real choice."

  Cameron looked at me askance. "What did he tell you?"

  "There's a lot more to this vampire thing than just sucking blood. I don't understand it all, but the impression I got was that without the right training and without the right… diet, you'll just sort of waste away and die." I paused a moment, wondering if this was why Cameron didn't glow like the others.

  I shook myself back to conversation. "Dropping your efforts to reconcile with Edward, or moving to another city and hoping for a fresh start, would be postponing the inevitable. And if you stay here, Edward will eventually have to deal with you as a threat to the community."

  "I'm not a threat! I'm not doing anything to anybody."

  "Your existence outside of the control of the community is, inherently, a threat. Think about it. And think about where to hide until it's safe to come out."

  "I didn't realize this vampire gig was going to require a security expert." He stood up. "I can find a place. Don't worry about me. What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to stir mud."

  Once Cameron was gone, I swallowed my trepidation and started down into the Square to seek vampires.

  The night was thick with spirits trailing Grey wakes or striating the darkness with columns of cloud-light. Friday night was party night whether you were dead or alive. The historic district, with its many one-cover-price clubs and easygoing bars, was a prime location for night creatures on the prowl. I had three names on the list in this area, but in spite of my best charms, only one would talk to me. The first just squirmed around and refused to say anything before telling me to go jump in the Sound. The next one had a tale of pettiness and manipulation that wasn't much, for all his anger. The third threatened to kill me.

  I gave up and was heading for my truck when I spotted a flash of red and turned my head.

  Alice lounged under a streetlight and gave me her siren's smile before sliding back into the dark. As she moved, I recognized her shape in the shadow. Just like the night after I'd met Quinton—the same shape and shadow, sliding into the fog-filled alley that had led me into the Grey. She'd been teasing me, the previous night. She'd said she knew who I was. Why had she been watching me for so long?

  I worried it in my brain, but was too exhausted from pushing back against the Grey all night to get an answer. I shook it off for now and headed home. I felt better as the distance increased between me and Pioneer Square.

  It was almost one in the morning when I parked in a space under my building. I was tired, distracted by thoughts of Alice, and not paying attention. If I had been, I might have spotted the son of a bitch when he first stepped out of the shadows by the laundry room door.

  Chapter 22

  Clouds and mist played around the edges of vision and I was too tired to push it back. A solid shape reached for me under the silver mist-world and I coiled back, skipping behind the nearest car. "What in hell's little half acre do you want?" I demanded, trying to shake off the obscuring haze of Grey.

  He was clean-cut, bulked buff, and dressed neatly—hardly the usual mugger. "Just you. You won't stay dead long enough."

  He sprang forward, snake-quick for a guy with such bulky muscles. I turned to the side and backed up, giving him a kick in the seat as he brushed past. M
y high heels wobbled.

  He turned, whipping out an arm to grab me. I hopped backward and slid onto the truck hood, putting distance between us.

  He looked annoyed. Reached into his jacket pocket. "I'm not going to hurt you. A lot." He drew out a knife.

  Bigger, faster, and stronger than me. And holding a knife like he knew it well. I didn't like those odds. I dropped onto the other side of the Rover. He started around the rear. He passed into the blind spot and I dug under the back of my jacket.

  He cleared the end of the truck. I pointed the business end of the gun at his face. "Back off." I squeezed. The HK's cocking lever made a click that cracked the cold air like a hammer on thin ice.

  He gaffed a chuckle that went right through me. "You're not going to shoot me." He lunged, tucking down.

  I lowered aim, squeezed the trigger, twisted away.

  The bullet gouged a chunk out of his shoulder. I stepped down hard and felt my heel break off as my ears shut down from the roar of the gun.

  He staggered, but kept his feet and came after me, grimacing evil glee as he swung the blade.

  I lurched sideways, stumbled, fell flat on my back. My skirt ripped, fouling the blade in a cloud of fabric. I tilted the pistol. Squeezed. Felt it buck, heard the underwater roar of the shot in my already ringing ears.

  He swayed back, but didn't fall. Black blood dripped down the front of his jacket. He glared at me and bared a mouthful of shark's teeth.

  I swallowed hard. "Oh…"

  "Hey! What's going on down there? Was that a gunshot?" The voice sounded distant and tinny to me.

  The uncanny man stared up toward Rick and his dog, emerging on the upper landing. He shot a look back at me and the gun, then whirled and bolted into the darkness outside.

  I slumped against the Rover, letting out a gust of breath. I was thoroughly shaken, and too watery to stand up.

  "Yes, Rick!" I yelled back, feeling woozy.

  "Harper?" A moment later, they popped out of the foyer door, the dog in the lead and Rick dragged behind. "Harper, are you OK?"