"'Stall'?"
"I don't think he likes you," I observed.
After a long moment, Clarisse's voice came over the speaker. "Mr. Stapleton, as you can hear from the laughter in the background…" She paused, and I imagined her holding the keyed mike so we could hear the snorts and chuckles and half-hearted sorrys. "Captain Nix was having a very small joke at your expense. Unfortunately, our captain, while a superior pilot, suffers from a deficient and puerile sense of humor. On behalf of LagosLines, please accept our apologies and enjoy your flight."
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. Grace fought a grin as she rolled her eyes and shook her head. Rak even managed a half-hearted chuckle. Only Charlie scowled. "Vern, tell him to cut the antics and get us to top speed fast."
"Easy, Romeo," Rak cut in. "We need to know where we're going first. We've traced the second call to an Arthur Decko." He pulled his laptop out from beneath his seat. Grace pressed the button beside the door, and we watched as the floor split and unfolded itself, reconfiguring into a small but functional table. He set the laptop on it and turned it so everyone could see.
"Art Decko?" I said. "You're kidding me."
He pulled up a Washington State driver's license with a really bad photo of a heavyset, balding man to prove he wasn't. "Ironically, that's his real name. He registered the phone under a false name. Decko is employed as a driver for Ping Cola. A Ping delivery truck was one of the three seen leaving not long before Rhoda Dakota's disappearance was discovered. Naturally, we checked it, but neither he nor Heather were in it, so the transfer must have been made before we caught up to him."
Grace knitted her brows, and she played with the medallion in her hand. "Does he usually drive that route?" she asked.
"No, he's located in Spokane. That's why we're going there. In the meantime, the police are searching for him."
"It's the right direction, but..." Grace frowned and shook her head. Her fingers rubbed the small metal disk like a worry stone.
Charlie leaned toward her intently. "Sister?"
"It's not Decko," she whispered. "Who would have his phone?"
"This some kind of magic? How accurate is it?" Rak asked.
Grace had closed her eyes in prayer, so I answered. "You Catholic?"
He nodded. "Been a while since I really practiced."
"Well, start," I said automatically then continued, "Grace has implored the help of St.
Anthony, patron saint of missing people in both our dimensions. I'm not sure exactly how he's working this—probably seeking her guardian angel—but he's leading us to her. And, no, he's not going to be able to give us a specific location. He didn't live in the United States, and even if he had, he might not know the town or even the type of building she's in. All he can do is light the way, maybe give some hints. The stronger your relationship with your guardian angel, the easier it is for it to perceive things around you. And even so, there's a matter of free will which can really clog the works. It's not like a phone trace, but in this case, if Anthony says Spokane's a bum lead, I'll trust him over a hunk of mechanics anytime."
"As will I," Charlie said. "Grace, where do we go?"
Sweat beaded Grace's brow, although her voice was calm. "A truck…but not Ping. There was a plane, small. Private, I'm sure. North, as I said. They can't tell how long the flight lasted.
Heather was unconscious, and angels aren't particularly attentive to time. They landed in a small airfield—just a hangar and a dirt strip. Then a helicopter. A large complex near a river. The river has a curve, like a hook. A house in the butte above, a winding driveway. It's a large house. A pretty mansion, but twisted. The helicopter lands…and the waters part? I don’t understand what that means."
"Can the angel look around? Find some landmarks. Maybe even a house number?" Rak asked.
"It won't leave Heather. She's too scared, too vulnerable. The forces of darkness whisper to her, and her angel is afraid to leave her to battle them alone."
"Tell her we're coming," Charlie begged. "Tell her—" His voice caught, and he swallowed hard.
"She knows, luv. She's thinking of you and holding onto the hope that you'll save her."
Grace set a hand on his. Then she leaned back and rubbed her temples. "That's all I'm going to get for the moment."
"Calloway said you only have a limited amount of magical energy," Rakness said. "Did you just use it up?"
Grace shook her head. "No, it's just...tiring. It's hard to explain. I'm listening to a language I don’t really know and translating it into a language they can't really speak—not in angelic form, anyway."
"Can you draw me the shape of the river?"
She nodded and drew a wavy line with a hook at the end. Rak's eyes bugged. "You're sure? There's a mountain range to the north, right?"
She nodded again.
"You recognize the river?" I asked.
"Maybe. Let me do some research. I think I'll have our first course correction."
Rak spun the computer back to himself, accessed the Internet, and started his research.
Grace stretched out on the bench seats and fell asleep. I thought back and realized she'd probably had four hours’ sleep in the last twenty-four. Charlie alternately fidgeted and brooded, but after a few minutes, he pulled out the rosary Grace had lent him. He started reciting the prayers, mouthing the words without really hearing them or taking in the meditations. I joined him, making him slow his pace. We prayed quietly and in Latin so as not to disturb Rakness' research.
About fifteen minutes later, Nix announced over the intercom that we'd reached cruising speed and "that lovely creature, Clarisse" would be there momentarily for Stapleton's tour. By the time she knocked on the door, he had the laptop stowed and his tape recorder, camera, and notebook ready to go. We waved goodbye without breaking stride in our prayers.
After the last Amen, we fell silent. I watched as Charlie toyed with the beads and noted how his foot kept reaching back under his seat as if to reassure himself that his bag was there. I knew what was in it and what he was thinking. "Let it go, Charlie."
He jerked guiltily and started to protest.
"You've been dishonorably attacked, and items you swore to protect stolen. Adding insult to injury, a maniacal fanboy not only takes your woman but acts like it's funny. You keep thinking about those weapons you brought with you and how you'll use them. You don't think I know where this is going? I've seen this all before...except the fanboy part," I mused. "That's new."
"That cad deserves to be punished!"
"Leave it to the authorities—"
"I am an authority!" he stood and shouted at me.
Grace stirred in her sleep. I ignored Charlie and concentrated on her. A tightness in her face emphasized the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth and aged her. Her eyes flickered back and forth under her lids. I wished mind-reading was a magical ability. Still, it didn't take much imagination to know what her dreams were filled with. The crucis iugolis was an affectation of the brutal but less powerful of those that took Satan's side in our Great War. Grace had been in the thick of things, fighting baddies on a level even I didn't touch. We won the war, but her own battles continued for years afterward. Years after I'd taken her on as my partner, in fact.
The first time her Mother Superior saw her laughing at some sarcastic comment I'd made, she'd pulled me aside. I'd thought I was going to get scolded. Instead, she had blessed me, and tears had filled her eyes. I'd made it my mission to keep Grace smiling and laughing ever since.
No smiling now. I didn’t think waking her was such a good idea either.
With the table still up, I couldn't sit near her, so I got as close as I could and settled my tail over her shoulders. She calmed slightly. I gave Charlie a reproachful look and waited until he got control of his temper enough to sit down.
"When we get to this mansion, your objective is to get Heather and get out. If there's any spying to be done, any henchmen to be fought, any evil overlords who like
pop music to be dealt with, you will leave them to us. Do you understand? Her safety comes first."
"How dare you command me—"
"Give that line to the demon masquerading as your dignity, will ya? Right now, I'm betting it's telling you you're honor-bound to off this guy, and the world's better without him.
Forget it. Do you know how many knights I ate, fried, or both because they decided to come back to avenge their honor? Aside from that, how well do you think you can work with a Church mage when you're harboring thoughts of bloody vengeance? If you want to help us, if you want to save Heather, you're going to beg God for forgiveness and ask your guardian angel for help, and then we're going to really pray the rosary. For Grace."
He glanced at the sleeping nun. "I don't understand."
"She's sent her guardian angel to find Heather, and the forces of darkness are taking advantage of her vulnerability."
Chapter Six: Ocrapussy
By the time Rak had returned, we'd prayed the full rosary, including the Luminous Mysteries which were unique to the Mundane universe and the Miraculous Mysteries which were unique to Faerie. We could hear flirtatious laughter from down the hall, but as soon as Rak shut the sliding door to the room, he made a beeline to his seat and strapped himself in tightly.
Then he looked at me and pointed.
Charlie had lifted Grace off the bench and settled her next to me. She'd curled up against me with her head on my flank like the Costa kids used to do with the family Newfoundland.
Between the prayers and my gravelly purring, she'd calmed into a deeper sleep. I gave him the same look the Newf did and dared him to comment.
"She going to be okay for this?" he asked. "We can't jeopardize this mission for a..." His voice faded in response to my growl. I didn't even want to know what he'd intended to say. I don't think I'd have liked it.
Charlie said in a low, contrite voice, "She's sent her guardian angel to find my Heather."
"She can do that? Can all Faerie do that, or just mages? Why can't we humans—I mean Mundane humans—do that?"
"Who says you can't? It's not magic; it's faith."
Rak looked doubtful—which of course, was the problem—but asked, "Is that why she's unconscious?"
"She's just asleep, but it is easier. Besides, she needs to be as rested as she can—if things get nasty, she's our magical tank."
"Or songbird. 'The Tank that Sings.' Did she really defeat C'thulu with a song?"
" We defeated him, thank you." I bristled, but mostly for show. I did not want his attitude about women transferring to Grace. "And he wasn't C'thulu like Lovecraft imagined; more of an ancient demon some insane songwriter conspired to release by putting his unbinding spell to music. I kept him contained while Grace bound him back up. Music is the easiest way for Grace to channel magic; both the neutral magic of spellcraft and the holy magic of Heaven."
"Okay, then. Wake her up. We need to plan. I got to see the bridge. Kind of unusual after 9-11. Nix showed me the route. We're close. I think we should change direction in about half an hour. Landing, though, is going to be a problem."
I nudged Grace. "Which is why you brought your 'chute," I concluded, but then I noticed the slight rise in his facial temperature. "That is why you brought the parachute?"
Instead of answering, he pulled out his laptop again. He started tapping on the keyboard even before the screen lit up.
"I'm gonna tell Sam," I teased.
"Tell Sam what?" Grace asked as she pushed herself off my flank like it was the most natural thing for her to have awakened there. She yawned and stretched. "What'd I miss?"
"If my guess is correct, and they usually are," Rak answered, "we're about forty-five minutes from our objective. I understand your guardian angel is doing some reconnaissance?"
Grace smiled at me, but it was shaky, and her eyes watered slightly. She asked me, "Can you know me any better?"
I grinned back. "Nope. Now call it back to you."
She leaned back against my flank while she prayed the Guardian Angel prayer.
Rak snorted, bemused. "I learned that as a kid."
"There's a reason we teach it to children," she commented. She sat up, looking stronger.
"You think you know where we're going? Then does this make sense? My angel said it saw...toys, gigantic toys."
Rak nodded and once again turned the laptop so we could see. We all gathered close.
The banner across the website read: Welcome to the McThing Animated Toy Mansion!! I didn't have to ask if that one was real; McT-A, along with being one of the leading manufacturers of animated kids' toys, also had the contract for the animated creatures used in Live and Let Fly.
To the left, a mechanical dinosaur roared in profile; then turned its open mouth to the screen and stuck out its tongue, while on the right, a white bunny did the Robot. Someone thought he was being clever. The center column gave the usual advertizing buzz about the museum: "Hands-on learning and fun for the kids!... Tour the factory and see how we build your greatest dreams—and worst nightmares! (So help me, there was a winking emoticon after that.)...
Play in the life-sized FamilyGames™ room—a new game every season!!..." There were a lot of
“TM”s after words. In bold. With a link to a pop-up box warning you that these were official trademarks of McThing Enterprises, and anyone using these in any way, up to and including works of fiction, owed the company $20,000 or risked lawsuit. An additional warning in parenthesis said they did regular searches, and George take my tail if I’m lying, there was a smiley face after that.
Below the over-exclaimed description of all the fun at the museum was an illegible copy of a newspaper article about how the museum plays a vital part in the economy of Ocra, Idaho.
The rolling caption below it read: "We love Ocra! And Ocra loves us!!!" Pretty typical tourist stuff, despite the fact that it read like an eighth-grader wrote it for a last-minute English assignment on the use of exclamations. The bottom glitter banner proclaimed: "Visit McT-A Today, okay!" The same kid must have done the website design, too.
The left column had links to photos, a map of the exhibits, a video tour, "about the mansion," employment opportunities, and the homepage of the town of Ocra, Idaho. The right column had little graphics with the hours and tour specials.
Grace clicked on the photos link. A slideshow flipped from pictures of families heading into a large covered entrance, the children rushing ahead while parents moseyed arm-in-arm, to a large garden with animated topiaries, to a movie monster room with skinless dinosaurs and fantasy and science fiction creatures showing off their gears and metallic bones, to people standing in various squares of a large Who's Da Perp? (TM!) gameboard and wearing hats to represent the various game pieces. Then it moved to more exterior views: the museum backed against a butte while at the top, the McThing Mansion stood watch over it all.
Grace paused the show. "There! Heather's in there."
"The mansion?" Rak asked.
"No, no. The mountain itself. That's what Heather was trying to tell you, apparently, Charlie. They went through the mansion, but Operisiel—"
"Operisiel?"
"My guardian angel. Operisiel says we can't go that way. Too many guards expecting something. He thinks we can get in from the museum."
"He thinks? I thought angels had perfect knowledge."
"Of good and evil, not of architecture and human strategies. Operisiel never likes to commit to anything unless he's one hundred percent sure, which is very hard where humans are concerned. We make him nervous, actually. He's always come through for me in a pinch, however."
"Can he lead us to Heather, then?" Charlie asked; hope creeping into his voice for the first time in hours.
Grace shook her head. "It's all tunnels and doors. He got confused, but when we're there, he can point us in the right direction."
Rak glanced at his watch. "We need to start heading north. How do we get Nix to alter course?"
"Easy," I
said. "I tell him the truth."
"Hold on! This is a—"
"Rescue. We tell him we need him to overfly the mansion. Maybe do a circuit around the town with the light shining on the logo, pretend to advertise as a distraction; I used to do it all the time. When it's dark, he heads back to the mansion and drops us off."
He chewed on his cheesy fake mustache a minute then nodded. "Sundown's at seven-forty-seven; gets dark fast after that. Crescent moon, partly cloudy. Perfect for a jump. Charlie, can you use a parachute?"
"Right." Charlie rolled his eyes. "Jump off flying objects all the time, I do. Maybe I'll just have Vern take me down, shall I?"
"Good plan." Rakness attached a small printer to his laptop, printed up a tourist map of the museum, then a topographical map of the area. Another search found some more detailed floor plans. This one, he spread before us, orienting it with the landscape map, and used a pen to mark important features. With a few hesitant hints from Operisiel the Guardian Angel, we determined the best possible entrance was through a hidden service door; then across some exhibit areas and up the stairs to the second-level employees-only area. Looked like four, maybe five doors, but Grace could handle those. Any lock that responded to tones was hers for the picking. Any other locks, St. Zita or I would take on, easy-peasy. As for the rest of the mission...
Grace pulled out a small bag from her knapsack and began passing out the tools of our trade. First, an extra throat mike and headset each for Charlie and Rak. Grace explained that she'd modified them so regular surveillance equipment wouldn’t pick up their signals. Next, she passed out brown scapulars for protection, medallions of St. Dismas for stealth, and miniature replicas of Gabriel the Archangel's horn, which would alert the others if one of us got in trouble.
Live and Let Fly Page 7
