“I’m ready,” I said. “You good with the full six-mile route? The one that goes all the way around the park?”
There was an expressive silence.
I followed Cowboy’s eyes to Dex, who grimaced a little. I glanced at Ravi next. I knew the grimaces were probably more for security reasons than the distance.
Either way, after a pause, he and Ravi both nodded.
Cowboy looked back at me, and repeated that nod. “Ayuh.”
For the first time, I noticed he’d changed clothes.
He wore what looked like pants from a martial arts gee instead of jeans, along with a black Sex Pistols T-shirt. The Colt Python was gone. When he started stretching out his arms, I grinned a little, I couldn’t help it.
“No weapon?” I teased.
He straightened, then lifted his shirt, showing me his back. A hunting knife nestled in the hollow groove of his spine, in a vinyl sheath and belt that ran cross-wise from his shoulder.
The damned thing looked six inches long.
“Jesus,” I said. “Planning on gutting an alligator while we’re out there?”
Cowboy chuckled. “You running, doc?” he queried back, swinging his arms to warm up. “Or we just going to stand here and jaw for awhile?”
I didn’t bother to answer.
Hitting my MP3 player’s play button, I turned on my heel, and began jogging counter-clockwise around the park, turning right onto the bridle path as soon as we hit the dirt. Cowboy caught up easily, and held even with me as I sped up to my normal running gait. From the way he loped at my side, wolf-like, his expression serene, his breaths even, I found myself thinking he was probably one of those guys who could run for days.
I wondered if Black was faster than him. Black definitely had height on him, and muscle, but something about the way Cowboy ran, I wondered.
I didn’t think about him for long, though.
I hadn’t come out here to think about him, or about Black really.
As I ran, some of the anxiety I’d carried with me for the past few days begin to fall away, to turn into static in the background.
Flashes of the day before still wanted to intervene. Mozar’s clouded stare surfaced in the darkness behind my eyes. The look on Black’s face when he told me about his family. The blond woman and her smirking, pink-lipsticked mouth––
My legs flashed faster.
Cowboy increased his pace as well, but I barely noticed.
My gait stabilized at that higher level, settling in for the distance. As it did, those harder flashes of memory gradually began to soften, becoming data points instead of hotter charges. I didn’t try to focus on any one of those things, but let them coalesce inside my mind however they wanted, drawing connections or contradicting one another without any conscious attempt from my end to try and manipulate them or figure them out.
It was something I’d done before, when working cases for Nick.
My subconscious was smarter than my conscious mind, I’d learned. The hardest part was finding tricks to get out of its way.
Mozar’s face flashed in front of mine again.
He was speaking, saying words to Black.
Hawking... he gasped, eyes gray. He found out... Lincoln. He found Lincoln...
He has you now... Black…
Mozar’s last words, and he directed them at Black.
He’d been dying and he wanted to talk to Black.
He has you...
I ran harder, adjusting my pace upward a few more ticks. The scenery blurred by, but I barely noticed. The sky was getting brighter, clouds tinged pink and gold as we rounded the curve of the reservoir; then the sun was ahead of us and to our right. The sharp light and cold air made my eyes water, the tears dry on my cheeks.
Images continued to flicker from the darkness of my mind.
I saw burning fires and bodies, black smoke belching in mushroom-like breaths, roiling in heated wind like coal-black snakes. I saw a smirking, bow-shaped mouth, tousled black hair, stiff with product, blue eyes leering down the front of my dress.
Why, terrorism, of course! the laughing voice echoed. Everyone knows all three of them had massive holdings in oil... just like your man...
My own voice, lighter, more playful.
You been buying combat drones, honey?
A flash of gold eyes. Not for David Garrison.
The direction of the sunlight shifted, beams flickering from behind taller trees. The music in my MP3 player was on shuffle, but I barely heard it.
Is it Puzzle, Miri? Do you still feel him on me?
I swallowed, blinking back tears.
I pumped my arms, barely noticing when I broke into a faster run. Next to me, Cowboy lengthened his strides to match mine. His breath was coming faster now, but it still seemed effortless to me, his strides graceful. A bass beat thumped from my MP3 player in time to our pounding feet.
The sun was a little higher now.
Thoughts and memories continued to sift and turn, connecting like parts of a puzzle, configuring and reconfiguring, looking for patterns. It hit me as I ran, that I didn’t remember that happening quite like this before. Not in such a structured, orderly way.
Something about it was familiar, but not from me.
Black’s voice rose in my mind.
You’ll start to take on traits of mine... Glancing at me, he went back to staring at a tablet resting on our volcanic stone countertop in San Francisco. It’s part of the bonding process, doc. Your tastes will change somewhat, too. Preferences. Likes, dislikes... allergies. You might pick up skills or abilities you didn’t have before... or get better at some than you used to be. He gave me a semi-apologetic look. You might find you have psychological issues or phobias you never had prior to me, as well. Apologies in advance, if that’s the case.
I’d laughed. You really are an egomaniac, Black.
He gave me a sharp, semi-offended look. His gold eyes flashed pink and orange from the reflected sunset shining through the bay windows.
For your information, I’ve experienced changes from you already, he said stiffly. I was never implying it only went one way.
You’ve experienced changes? From me? Like what?
He shrugged. Food differences mostly, since those are more obvious. More subtle things are starting to grow noticeable to me now, too. Cognitive experiences. Methods of analysis. A better understanding of human psychology. He grunted. A better understanding of my own psychology, to be honest… which isn’t always welcome. His eyes flickered up from the tablet. I expected it, Miri. I’m only mentioning it so it doesn’t surprise you.
Grinning, I pushed lightly at his shoulder. ‘Cognitive experiences?’ ‘A better understanding of your own psychology’? So you’re a shrink now?
His eyes turned predatory, right before they flickered down my body.
The image of his faint smile faded.
Swallowing, I pumped my arms faster.
I really was getting lost in Black’s world. Sometimes I struggled to remember what my life had been like before him. I wondered if that came from Black, too, that ability to put most things behind him––to put a whole other world and family behind him. To put a history and civilization behind him, to declare they no longer belonged to him.
I tried to think about what I’d be doing now, if not for meeting Black––and I had a sudden flash of Ian, of running with him in Golden Gate Park. In my memory Ian smiled at me, throwing back his head in a laugh, sunlight dappling his features under the trees.
I winced, nearly stumbling as I faltered in my gait.
Next to me, Cowboy tensed, looking over.
Catching my stride, I sped back up. I didn’t return Cowboy’s gaze.
My mind went to the night before, seemingly on its own.
As it did, pain stabbed through me––sex-pain that time. Fleeting images of skin and heat, Black’s light as it wound into me, words he’d spoken, emotions I’d felt off him. I remembered him in that room at Ben Frasier’s, the sheer amount of
aggression on him, his pain making it difficult to breathe as he watched my eyes, his fingers inside me.
Something deeper rose with that collection of pain and light, filling me with conflicting emotions, too many to sort through. Briefly, the combination grew so intense I struggled to see past them. Feeling Black there, his presence flickering into my awareness, I panicked; his light pulled on mine so hard I gasped. Worried I’d wake him, I extricated myself after a few breaths more, forcing the pain back as I did.
When I next focused my eyes, we were approaching the northeastern corner of the park.
Ahead of me, I could see the pond they called Harlem Meer. We were running through the Conservatory Garden now, and when I turned to the right, I glimpsed a bronze Pan lounging at the feet of a nymph, playing the flute, horns flashing in the early-morning sun. The nymph looked down at his curly-haired head.
My mind imagined her smirking at him.
The bronze nymph changed behind my eyes, morphing into the redhead in the leather miniskirt. Then the blond woman with the babydoll face.
I saw both of them now, one overlain with the other.
I saw the differences––different colored eyes, different make-up, different hair, different clothes. I saw past those differences too.
It was the same woman.
The blond woman, the redhead––they were the same woman.
In my mind’s eye, I saw the redhead hanging over Black in the television studio, all eyes riveted on her without really seeing her. They saw her ass, her breasts, her legs, but they didn’t see her; she was invisible beyond those things. She batted her eyelashes at Black, fingers in his hair. I hadn’t been able to watch them for long. I hadn’t wanted to see his reactions to her, given how little he’d been reacting lately to me.
Like everyone, I’d barely looked at her, other than to see her body, and the way she hung on Black. I could see her now, though.
He had his arm propped up, fingers curled loosely not far from his face. My inner eye focused on the edge of a white bandage, just visible at his wrist.
That particular bandage was two days old by then.
That’s when I first noticed it, at least.
What happened to you? When I touched it, he yanked his arm away, as though my fingers burnt his skin. Black. Did you hurt yourself again?
Gold eyes shifted away as he shrugged. It’s nothing, doc. Same as before. Cowboy got in a lucky slice with a sword. Bound to happen now and then.
Is that where you were when I woke up in the middle of the night?
The gold eyes blanked. Where else would I be?
Pain hit the center of my chest.
I watched the woman stroke his hair. Brown eyes to bright blue, easily done with contact lenses. A red wig exchanged with a blond one. Different clothes. Different makeup––almost a cartoonish amount to go with the gold dress she wore at Frasier’s party.
Ben Frasier knew her. He called her Anastasia.
In the studio, a necklace hung down, a pendant spinning and dangling over Black’s face. Overshadowed by the view of her breasts, it was barely noticeable. Some part of my mind logged it anyway, and now it eclipsed all else.
The pendant had a dog’s head with pointed ears and ruby eyes.
Anubis.
I watched her touch Black, saw him avoid looking down her blouse, watched him pretend what she was doing was normal.
I watched him pretend he didn’t know her.
She touched his face, his hair, his neck. She touched him like she’d touched him before, but not like a lover. She touched him how a mother pats a beautiful child––or a human strokes a faithful dog, one they feel great affection for.
That pain in my chest sharpened, briefly blinding.
I saw the hate in Black’s eyes as he stared at the blond woman at the party. Not just hate. A kind of despair lived there. He’d wanted to kill her. He’d really wanted to kill her, but he knew he couldn’t. She’d tapped that part of him that remembered being a possession, that remembered not having any say in who touched him and when.
She’d tapped that part of him on purpose. Reminding him what he was.
The thought made me sick.
I hadn’t seen the red-haired woman anywhere in the back of the studio after her appearance on stage. I hadn’t seen her behind the cameras or lingering outside Black’s dressing room with the rest of the staff. I hadn’t seen her when Black rejoined Steele and the other guests onstage for the final credits. I hadn’t seen her on our way out.
I hadn’t seen the blond woman again at Ben Frasier’s.
Frowning, I began running harder, fighting to think.
Harlem Meer was on my left now. We were nearing Central Park North; I could see cars flashing by between the trees up ahead. Traffic was picking up for the early morning commute; it grew audible over my MP3 player as cars honked, tires occasionally screeched. I glanced at the sky and saw it turning a lighter blue. My mind only focused on our surroundings for a few beats more before I sped up again, sweat running down my back from under my ponytail, my hooded sweatshirt soaking it up as I ran. I rounded the northeastern-most corner of the park without slowing my strides, Cowboy running in perfect tandem beside me.
After a few more beats of indecision, my mind reached for Ravi’s.
That woman, I sent, not bothering with a greeting. The woman last night. The one who grabbed Black at Frasier’s party. Did you find out who she was?
Ravi’s mind rose in mine. The blonde? What about her?
Feeling a glimmer of his more visceral reactions to her while he’d been erasing her mind, I gritted my teeth. No wonder none of the male seers or humans noticed anything strange about her, or about the red-haired version of her at the television studio.
Black definitely needed to hire more women.
Did you happen to notice she was the same woman who had her hands all over Black at the television studio? I sent.
What? Ravi’s thoughts exuded shock. Are you sure?
I’m sure. Did you ever find out who she was? I sent. When you checked her out at the studio? Or at the party?
No. I mean, she worked there, at the studio. She wasn’t called Anastasia… her name was Jayna Lorens. We have a sheet on her somewhere, but she checked out. Ravi’s mind grew silent. I felt it shift, turning razor-sharp. Are you saying it’s more than just a costume change? That she was targeting Black for some reason?
I nodded as I ran. Yes. I think she’s a vampire.
Silence. Then a sharper note tinged his light. What makes you say that? Did you see something, Miri?
I hesitated, turning over possible responses.
My reasons were gut-level mainly. The only real “evidence” I had was the Anubis pendant, and I didn’t really want to get into what Black and I found at Garrison’s office. I wasn’t sure how many of Black’s people knew about that yet, or which ones.
Couldn’t she just a be a groupie? Ravi sent next. I get that it’s weird, her showing up twice like that. But it’s not like Black has any shortage of stalkers these days. She works in television, so she could have wrangled an invite––Frasier has a lot of friends and connections in the entertainment industry. Still thinking, he added, Anyway, she could have been bitten. If she was human and bitten, she’d still be a threat, but not to the same degree.
I didn’t answer right away.
Running in that silence, I tried to decide what to tell him.
In the end, I decided not to say much.
It doesn’t matter why I think so, I said, at the end of a too-long pause. The point is, if I’m right, she had her hands all over Black. Twice. I paused, letting the meaning of my words sink in. Any thoughts on what she might have been doing?
Ravi’s mind grew quiet. I distinctly got the sense he was talking to someone else. Maybe several someone’s. Even as I thought it, he focused back on me.
Your uncle wants to talk to you.
I bit my lip, lengthening my strides with another burst of speed.
Of course he does, my thoughts muttered. Louder, I sent to Ravi, Tell him yes.
Charles’s mind rose in mine at once. Miri? Can you show me what you saw? Before I could answer, he added, We’re alone. It’s just you and me.
Pursing my lips, I puzzled through that for a bare second, then shrugged.
I sent him a snapshot of what I’d seen, in what Black called a ‘stacked’ form, meaning with images, conversations, opinions, memories and my own theories all rolled into a single snapshot. I felt my uncle flinch, right before a denser affection reached me, warming my light.
Black has taught you a few things, his mind murmured approvingly.
I ignored the compliment to Black.
Did you know about the Anubis symbol? I sent. Did you know Mozar called us when his friend got shot, to look at the murder scene?
My uncle sighed. Black mentioned it to me, yes. He told me his people in San Francisco were assessing the blueprints, trying to match them to existing structures. Two of them already tracked to the oil reserves attacked in Texas and Louisiana.
I frowned. Did he tell you we found documents with his name on them? Invoices? Including for military drones?
Yes. He told me that, too.
There was a silence.
And? I sent. What do you think?
What do I think about what, niece?
I felt my jaw tighten. Don’t play obtuse, uncle... it doesn’t suit you. I paused, feeling that pain return to my chest. That woman. These terrorist attacks. What we found at Garrison’s office. Black’s weird behavior. What Mozar said... about them “having” him.
Fighting that tightness in my chest, I bit my lip, struggling to form the thoughts.
Is it possible vampires are feeding on Black? I blurted. That they’re coercing him, getting him to work for him? Getting him to murder people… I swallowed, that sick feeling in my stomach worsening. It would explain why he seemed to know that woman. It would explain the odd disappearances, the invoices with his name on them, the cuts that keep showing up on his body, him getting up in the middle of the night…
I bit my lip harder, fighting with whether to add that it would explain the differences I’d noticed in his light, too, and how weird he’d been about sex.
Black Of Mood (Quentin Black: Shadow Wars #2): Quentin Black World Page 21
