A Wolf at the Door: A Jesse James Dawson Novel

by K. A. Stewart

  He smiled a little, his whiskey-colored eyes absorbing the last of the glow to shine like polished gold in the darkness. “We are not men.”

  “Then why make yourself known now? If God’s not going to send us help, why are you here?”

  “Who says He has not sent help?” With a faintly sad smile, he melted back into the narrow pathways and I knew the moment he was gone. The weight on my chest, the mere pressure of his presence, was gone.

  I sat there for a few more moments, rocking back on my knees and balancing my sword across them. I could still feel the minute texture of everything I touched, but it was no longer threatening to overload my circuits. Another few minutes and I’d be almost normal, I thought. If I had another few minutes. Gretchen was down in the lobby and inevitably, someone would come looking up here to see what had happened. Being caught here with an empty gun and a bared sword probably wasn’t going to end well for me.

  “Man…man, are you okay?” Spencer’s voice was not nearly as harsh in my ears as I’d been fearing. I wondered that it had taken him this long to talk, when I’d been aware of his presence almost from the beginning. Mercifully, the rooftop no longer buckled when he approached me. I turned my eyes on him, mostly just to see what he looked like in my vision, and I was relieved to see that he was just…him. Somewhere in the last few minutes, I think I’d forgotten what normal looked like.

  “I’m all right.” Gingerly, I got up, feeling my mail sitting against my back like it was so much raw meat. Under the padding, under my T-shirt, iridescent white tattoos writhed and slithered as they settled into their new homes. I could feel each one intimately, could point out where one ended and another began, though it would be invisible to the naked eye.

  “Man…I saw everything.” There was awe in his voice. Funny how seldom we hear genuine awe in this day and age. “What…what was that?”

  “You know what it was.” Moving to the pile of golem dust, I dug through it until I found the slip of paper. A business card, more precisely. I had a matching one in my wallet, belonging to none other than Reginald Goldman. Well, hello, Reggie. I wasn’t surprised. Maybe I should have been, but I think I’d lost the capacity. I tucked the card into one of my bracers, and brushed my dusty hands off.

  “What…what do we do?”

  I finally turned to face Spencer, and he backed up a step. I can only imagine what it was he saw in my eyes. “We do nothing. You tell no one, because they’d never believe you anyway.”

  “But…Gretchen Keene?”

  “Gretchen Keene took her own life tonight.” For just one moment, I was tempted to look over the edge of the pool to the lobby far below, but I squelched the urge. Some things I just didn’t need to see. Not really. What I’d already seen had been bad enough.

  20

  Gretchen Keene was declared dead at 12:15 a.m., New Year’s Eve morning. Just like Axel and Cindy said, it was all over by New Year’s. Stupid me, I’d thought she had at least another day, twenty-four more hours to put things right, but…you see what happens when you assume.

  Spencer’s presence turned out to be fortunate. When security and the police came storming out of the elevator, he was able to back up my story, swearing that yes, Gretchen had held me at gunpoint, then jumped to her own death. He didn’t mention golems, or angels, or the fact that my sword was tucked away under a bench far out of sight. Because really, who would have believed him? I was there, and I wasn’t sure I believed it.

  Still, the police held me for hours, asking the same questions over and over again, mostly centered around why in the hell I was wearing a full suit of mail armor. I used my one phone call to ring Ivan up, and by the time the old man arrived, the cops gave up trying to make me say something different. I gave them my contact information in Missouri, and they let me go.

  “I am to being sorry, Dawson.” That was all Ivan had to say, and I was glad for his stoic silence. There was too much going on in my brain to make small talk.

  My ticket back home wasn’t good until tomorrow, so that gave me an entire day to kill in L.A. First, Ivan took me to retrieve my gear, and inspected my back closely as I changed into a clean T-shirt. “I have never to be seeing the like.” One thick finger touched my shoulder blade, and the ridges of his fingerprint rasped like sandpaper. I hissed, jerking out of his reach. It was too sensitive, still. Tender.

  “Now what are we to be doing?”

  “Now I need you to help me play bad cop–worse cop.” Apparently, he got the reference, ’cause he didn’t ask me any more questions after that.

  Tai and the real Dante had been taken to the hospital, and though I wanted to go check on them both, I just couldn’t make myself. I’d failed to protect Gretchen and I just couldn’t face either of them yet. If ever. There were, however, two people I very much wanted to visit before I left town. I chose the more pleasant—if you can call it that—of the two first.

  With Ivan and a phone call to a faraway Viljo on my side, it wasn’t hard to find the address for Gretchen’s mother, and I knew we’d found the right place when we pulled up to find the house surrounded by a veritable army of paparazzi and news vans. They snapped pictures and tried to thrust microphones in my face as I got out of Ivan’s car, but one look from the big Ukrainian had them backing up a good couple of yards. Someday, I wanna learn to do that, just back people off with a look.

  I didn’t know the woman who answered the door. Family friend, if I had to guess, and acting as a gatekeeper in this time of tragedy. She was ready to do battle, that much was clear. “If you don’t get off this property, I’m going to have the cops on your ass so fast…”

  “I’m not a reporter. I’m…I was one of Gretchen’s bodyguards. I just came to talk to her mother.”

  The fierce expression on her face faded into a bit of doubt, but I still don’t think she was going to let me in until a voice came from inside. “Let him in, Rebecca.” Reluctantly, the self-appointed guard let me pass, then made a show of slamming and locking the door behind me.

  The house itself was…average. Everything was average. Seventies-era wood paneling, threadbare and scuffed furniture, a few dusty doilies, some knickknacks on the shelves. It could have been my mom’s house. It could have been anybody’s mom’s house. Part of me cringed to be walking across the rug in my dusty boots, expecting to get smacked upside the back of the head for it.

  Rebecca escorted me to the room on the left, where two other women were seated on the worn sofa. I recognized Gretchen’s mother, sitting with her back ramrod straight, her face severely composed to hide her grief. The other was lying with her head in Patty’s lap, and sat up when I entered, brushing her blond hair back out of her face and hastily rubbing the tears off her cheeks. Gretchen’s sister. Older than the picture on the mirror, but I’d have known her anyway. The resemblance to Gretchen was eerie.

  It occurred to me as I went to introduce myself that I didn’t even know Patty’s last name. I settled for “Ma’am. I’m Jesse Dawson.” Patty stood to shake my hand, offering me a smile because it was the polite thing to do. “We haven’t really met, but I saw you the other day at the hotel.”

  Patty nodded. “I remember. You’re fairly new to her employ, yes? I don’t remember seeing you before.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve only been here a week.” Christ, really? A week? Not even that. Five days. So much chaos in just five days. “Um…may I sit?” When she nodded, I found a place on a small ottoman that had seen better days. I sat gingerly, afraid the whole thing would collapse under my weight.

  “Would you like some coffee or something?” It was an offer made out of etiquette, not any real desire to see to my comfort. Still, the thought of caffeine did sound suddenly enticing.

  “Um, yes please. Black.” Rebecca disappeared into the kitchen. We all sat in awkward silence, looking at anything but each other, until I realized that I was about to be hypnotized by the pattern on the carpet. The power of Gretchen’s souls lingered. “Um…I just wanted to stop by
today to tell you how sorry I am.”

  Patty seemed to relax a bit, then. Condolences, those she was prepared to deal with. “Thank you. If you leave your number, we’ll make sure we get details of her services to you, once they’re decided.” The little sister hiccupped at that, biting back a sob.

  I shook my head, my hair falling down around my face. It was easier to look at the carpet, than at this woman. I’d failed her too. “No…I mean, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her. I was with her. I tried…I should have tried harder. I should have done…something.”

  The feel of Patty’s hands as she took mine in hers surprised me. Rough from a life of washing dishes by hand, I could almost taste the lotion she’d put on. Jasmine. I forced myself to look up and meet her eyes.

  “Gina was a stubborn girl. Once she’d put her mind to something, there was no changing it. Even…even this. The police told me she hurt one of her other bodyguards last night. I don’t know that there was anything else you could have done, if that was her aim.” Her voice was steady, her blue-gray eyes clear. Behind them, I could see the agony she was so carefully holding in check. No mother should have to bury a child.

  I turned my hands to grasp hers instead, searching for the words to explain the unexplainable. “I came today, because I wanted you to know that she was a good person. What she did…I don’t know that I can ever explain it to you, fully, but what she did, she believed she was doing for the greater good. In her mind, it was a sacrifice, not a suicide.”

  Patty’s brows creased in puzzlement, the first emotion I’d really seen from her. “I don’t really understand.”

  “And I can’t explain it any better. But I know that she was a good person. I just need you to know that, too.”

  The older woman smiled a little, and I caught the first hint of tears in her eyes. “I knew that already.” She patted my hands, and sat back on the sofa.

  I stood then. I wasn’t sure there was anything else to say. “Thank you for having me in your home.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  I passed Rebecca in the entryway as she returned with the coffee. She gave me a stiff nod, and seemed relieved just to see me departing.

  “Wait!” It was Gretchen’s sister who caught up to me, stopping me before I could open the door. “I’m…I’m Chelsea, Gina’s sister.”

  I nodded. “I saw pictures of you.” She was twenty-two, if that, and just as stunningly beautiful as her sister had been. Younger than Gretchen, but old enough to be getting married, apparently. I saw the flash of the engagement ring on her hand.

  Chelsea hesitated a moment, debating on whether or not she truly wanted the answer to the question she was about to ask. I’d seen that look before, on a lot of people. “Did she…did she say anything? About me or Mom, I mean? Before…”

  “She said she wanted you to all be safe and happy. She said you were going to make a beautiful bride.” A good man shouldn’t lie, but when Chelsea smiled through the tears that spilled down her cheeks, I couldn’t feel bad for it. “She was very proud of you.”

  “Thank you.” After another moment’s hesitation, she hugged me with one arm, then darted back into the living room.

  Outside, there seemed to be some kind of standoff between Ivan and the cameras. The big man leaned against his car, arms crossed over his broad chest, like he was just daring one of them to snap his picture without his permission. For their part, they seemed to be pretending he didn’t exist, except for furtive glances in his direction.

  As I walked across the lawn, one of the photographers tried to jump into my path, only to have his camera fizzle out in a shower of sparks and the smell of burning electronics. I raised a brow at Ivan as we got into the car, and he gave me a flat look in return. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “I have no idea what you are to be talking about.”

  Our next stop took us back to Century City. Apparently, we were expected, because the cute little receptionist went pale and reached for the phone the moment we appeared. Ivan gently placed his big hand over hers, stopping her in her tracks. “Ni. This is not to being the job for you.”

  After a moment, she nodded with wide eyes, and scampered for the elevator on her spindly high heels.

  “You totally have to teach me that,” I muttered, and the big man snorted.

  “You are either to be having it, or you are not.”

  Confronted with the closed double doors to Reggie’s office, I deferred to my elder. “After you.”

  Ivan smirked and with one well-placed boot, kicked the doors open with a crash of shattering wood. Maybe I’d have to rethink calling him “old man.”

  Reggie’s hand was reaching for the panic button (at least, I assume that’s where it was going) under his desk, but a shove from Ivan planted him back in his high-backed leather chair, rolling it all the way to the windows behind him.

  “Hiya, Reggie!” I hopped up on his desk, crossing my legs and giving him a slightly manic grin. “Reggie, this is Ivan. Ivan, Reggie.” My enormous Ukrainian mentor rested a hand on the agent’s shoulder, pinning him into his seat. I was pretty sure it would take more strength than Reggie had to budge it.

  “What do you want, Dawson? As you can imagine, I’m a bit busy today.”

  “I’m sure you are. I’m sure that Gretchen’s death has opened up all kinds of lucrative income opportunities for you.” I idly picked up items from his desk—his name plate, a glass paperweight, a stapler—and entertained myself by dropping them on the floor. The paperweight exploded quite nicely, scattering shards all over his hardwood flooring.

  Reggie shrugged—or tried to, with Ivan leaning on his shoulders. “What can I say? She’s worth more dead than alive when it comes right down to it.”

  “You’re a great humanitarian, you know that?”

  “Again, is there something you wanted?”

  I flipped his charred and wrinkled business card into his lap. “Found something of yours.”

  He picked it up, examining it, then tossed it to the floor with a negligent flip of his wrist. “I give out thousands of those, you realize.”

  “Yes, but this one is special. This one was buried in the neck of a rather well-constructed golem, who has since, sadly, just gone to pieces on us.”

  “And just what does that have to do with me?” His smirk lasted until Ivan squeezed the nerve cluster at the base of his neck, then his face crumpled in agony. I let it go on for a moment, then nodded, and Ivan released him.

  “Reggie, I want you to understand something. Last night, I had what we’ll call a moment of perfect clarity. Got to see the world and all things in it as they really are, that kinda thing. And you, sir, are a lying sack of shit.”

  I hopped off the desk and continued my random breaking of things, just because I could, and because all Reggie could do was watch me and fume. “See, I know you created that golem. Got quite a bit more magical talent than you let on, don’t you?” His lacrosse trophy cracked into four pieces when it hit the floor. “And I know you sent those flowers.” I picked up one of the old, musty tomes off his shelf, one I hadn’t looked at before, and flipped it open. Just as I thought. Spell work. Herbs. Everything a growing magician needs to entertain his friends and screw with the local champion. “Doing a bit of herbalism on the side, are we?” His heavy, crystal AGENT OF THE YEAR AWARD actually bounced when I swept it off the shelf, gouging a chunk out of the hardwood.

  His gaze followed me around the room as I created destruction and havoc, but he said nothing. He didn’t have to.

  “Axel came to see you, to tell you I was coming. But someone else got to you first, didn’t they, Reggie? Made you an offer you couldn’t refuse, no doubt. Gave you the giant shape-shifting Ken doll, to carry two hundred and seventy-six souls. Where were they going next? Who were they for?” Reggie glared daggers at me from his chair, jaw working as he bit off every curse word he knew before it could escape. I didn’t expect him to answer. At least, not right away. I stopped in front of hi
m again, Ivan turning the chair so I could crouch down at Reggie’s eye level. “Who loves ya, baby?”

  He turned away, directing his gaze out the window, until Ivan squeezed his shoulder again. “I would advise you to answer, Reggie. I’m a pretty decent guy, but him up there? He’s old and cranky.” Ivan gave me a dirty look over Reggie’s head, but I ignored it.

  It looked like the agent was going to keep mum, so I threw in one last bluff. At least, I hoped it was a bluff. “Ivan, break his knees.” There was a split second where I was actually sure Ivan was going to do it, before Reggie caved.

  “Wait! A name! They gave me a name I was supposed to use.” I swear, Ivan growled when he reached down again, and Reggie squirmed frantically. “No! Seriously! They wanted her to name a master. Gave me a name to use.”

  “What was the name?”

  “Do you think I’m insane? Saying it would draw them down on me in a heartbeat.” Sweat dripped down his fake tan cheeks, and he wriggled in the chair, trying to shrink away from Ivan’s iron grip on his shoulder.

  “Fair enough.” I hopped off the desk to pace again, mulling that over. “The souls were supposed to transfer directly to your…we’ll say employer. So what was the golem for?” That was a damn good question, now that I heard myself say it. “You had him in place long before you ever knew I was coming out here, so it wasn’t just to keep me occupied. What were you doing with the mud man, Reggie?”

  Ivan must have squeezed him again, because Reggie made a choked whimper. “I…was going to get her to put the souls in it. A vessel to carry them.”

  “Why? You didn’t need that if they were going to get funneled right into some demon’s power bank.” I turned from the windows again, eyeing the agent thoughtfully. Axel had sent me because I was an honest man. This man here? He wasn’t. “You were gonna be a bad boy, weren’t you, Reggie? You were going to keep those souls for yourself.”