by Amy Fecteau
“Sorry,” said Matheus. “Eighteenth century.”
“Accuracy is important.”
“I think I saw that on a cross-stitch once.” Matheus sped up, passing a truck with two confederate flags fluttering off the tailgate. Bumper stickers of the kind that’d make even the staunchest of conservatives wince obscured the rear window. The driver honked as Matheus slipped in front of him, making all sorts of unkind hand gestures. For a fleeting second, he considering slamming on his brakes, but he decided to hold the higher ground. Even if he really did want to ask if the driver realized he lived in the part of the country that had been anti-Confederate, namely the North.
Milo watched the Confederate truck fade into the distance with only the slightest downturn of his lips. The tunnel followed a smooth curve, the right lane branching away to a street exit. The whir of tires mixed with the growl of engines, concrete walls bending the sounds into odd distortions. Lights passed over the SUV, casting them alternatively in stripes of yellow and gray.
“You just like stealing cars,” Milo said.
“This I cannot deny,” said Matheus. The end of the tunnel appeared. The SUV bounced as they shot up the sloping exit onto the freeway. He grinned, the engine revving. He leapfrogged across two lanes into the fast lane. The highway stretched in front of him, the city rising up to greet them. “What do you think the top speed of this thing is?”
Milo clicked on his seatbelt.
Matheus drove past the warehouse at a crawl. The gate had been replaced, graffiti in neon green and pink tagged across the metal. Snow banks blocked the entrance to the unplowed driveway. He slowed, idling just past the warehouse.
“This isn’t right,” he said. “There should be guards.”
“It is very late,” said Heaven.
“It might be a trap,” said Milo.
“He’s not that subtle.” Matheus drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He didn’t see any tire tracks leading to the building.
“Your father?” asked Heaven.
Matheus had given her the highlights of his last encounter during the ride over. Although, much of the story had already leaked out. Matheus didn’t know how, exactly; he’d given only Alistair the full account. Milo had worked for Apollonia. He knew some parts, but Milo and gossip went together about as well as chalk and cheese. In small groups, information seemed to take on a life of its own, traveling outside any physical medium.
“You have a strange family,” said Milo.
“That wins understatement of the year.” Matheus shifted into reverse. He plowed through the embankment, stopping a foot from the gate. He waited, but no one came running out waving crossbows. He yanked out the screwdriver, shoving it into his jacket pocket. The engine died with a jolt.
“Everyone find a buddy.” Matheus opened his door. “No wandering away from the group, and don’t stick your fingers in the cages.”
Milo ignored him and swung his bag over his shoulder. Something inside clanked, but nothing exploded, so Matheus figured he had the situation under control. Between the two of them, they managed to lift the metal gate enough to slip underneath, following Heaven. Matheus blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Their footsteps echoed as they walked down the concrete ramp. Milo dug into his bag, pulling out a heavy-duty flashlight. The beam of light swung around the empty room.
Matheus’s footsteps crunched. He bent down, picking up a shard of red plastic. He ran his thumb along the ragged edge. The faint edge of old blood tainted the air. He closed his eyes, remembering the last time he’d been in this parking lot.
“Matheus?” Heaven touched his arm. “There is nothing here.”
“Yeah,” said Matheus, letting the bit of plastic slip from his fingers. “We should check upstairs.”
Milo stood by the elevator.
“Power’s off.” He tapped the button with the flashlight. “We’ll have to take the stairs.”
They climbed to the first floor. Cubicle walls had been knocked over, shredded paper and broken office equipment scattered everywhere. Matheus knelt beside an overturned file cabinet. He picked up a handful of paper strips, then let them sprinkle between his fingers.
“This is all worthless,” he said.
Milo prodded the smashed remains of a computer. “Hard drive’s gone.” He turned a circuit board between his fingers.
Heaven moved among the debris. She paused in the middle of the room, looking up at the ceiling. Matheus stood, following her gaze, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Let’s try upstairs,” Matheus said. “This was just administration.”
“An evil overlord required administration?” Milo tucked the circuit board into his bag.
“He’s not really an overlord,” said Matheus.
“Evil, though.”
“Oh yeah, that’s for damn sure.”
Heaven drifted past Matheus into the stairwell. “Boys?” she called. “Come here.”
“What is it?” Matheus asked.
She pressed a finger to her lips, and pointed upward.
“I don’t―” Matheus stopped. His ears strained, catching the faintest sound, hanging on the border of inaudible.
“Footsteps,” said Heaven.
“Someone’s here,” said Milo.
“The cells are up there.” Matheus started up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Milo and Heaven followed him. Milo unzipped his bag.
“No grenades.” Matheus stopped outside the door to the second floor.
“It’s not a grenade,” said Milo.
“What is―Jesus, Milo, where the hell did you get that?” Matheus stared at the monstrosity in Milo’s hands.
“I have contacts,” Milo said.
“Is that even legal?”
Milo checked the ammunition and flicked off the safety. Matheus didn’t know the make. His knowledge of guns stopped at hunting rifles. The massive hunk of metal Milo held definitely did not qualify as a rifle. The brushed gray barrel stretched eight inches, wide enough to hold a bullet that could stop a walrus. Milo held the gun with two hands; Matheus suspected that if he tried to fire one-handed, he’d end up with a broken wrist.
“It’s legal,” said Milo.
“In the U.S.?” Matheus asked.
Milo gave him a few seconds of flat eye contact. “Open the door, Matheus.”
“You know how to use that, right? You’re not going to shoot me in the leg or anything?”
“Only if I want to,” said Milo.
“Oh, that’s very comforting,” said Matheus.
“Guns are the succubae,” said Heaven. “They are consumers of souls.” She eyed the weapon with a curled lip.
Matheus wanted to get this expedition over with, but he had to ask.
“How, exactly? A person killed with a knife is just as dead.”
“It is not the victim whose soul is in danger,” said Heaven.
Matheus looked at the gun, scratching the back of his neck. “I get worried when I understand what you mean.”
“It’s just a weapon,” said Milo. “Not an occult, soul-sucking totem.”
“Also a valid point,” said Matheus. “Let’s save the debate on gun control for later, though?”
“Death is an intimate moment,” said Heaven.
“I’m opposed to intimacy on general principle,” said Milo.
“Enough.” Matheus stepped between them and pointed at the door. “We’re going in there, and you, Milo, are not going to shoot anybody because I want to ask questions and that’s hard to do when someone’s head has been turned into a fine red mist.”
“I’ll aim for the legs.”
Matheus shook his head. He pulled open the door, listening for more footsteps. Silence echoed in the hallway. Heaven trailed behind Matheus, her bare feet whispering over the tiled floor.
“What did they do in this place?” she asked.
Matheus glanced over his shoulder. Heaven had wrapped her arms over he
r chest, her shoulders trembling beneath her long shawl. Her hair swung forward, dark strands hiding her face.
“Held prisoners for experimentation,” said Matheus.
“This is a dark place,” said Heaven. “I do not wish to linger here.”
They reached the cells. The glass doors stood open, the prisoners long gone.
Matheus walked down the hall, a shiver travelling the length of his spine. He walked faster. The shiver crawled up to his skull, like spiders creeping through his hair. The sensation cut off with a jolt. Matheus stopped. He turned toward the open cell, the one Quin had occupied.
“Hello,” said Quin.
Matheus froze, trapped in a moment of déjà vu. Quin sat on the bench, relaxation in feline form, a bundle of muscles held in suspension, awaiting further information before striking. One corner of his mouth turned up in a mockery of a smile.
“What are you doing here?” Matheus asked.
Milo and Heaven flanked him. Heaven peered at Quin, her head tilted to the side. Milo held his gun up, pointed at Quin’s head. Matheus reached out and pushed the barrel down.
“I remember this place,” Quin said, looking at Matheus, ignoring the others. “I’m not sure why.” He shifted, putting his feet on the floor, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands together. “You can tell me, can’t you?”
Matheus glanced at Milo, his eyebrows raised, jerking his head toward the end of the hallway. Milo nodded. He tucked away the elephant gun, and offered his arm to Heaven. They walked away, disappearing out the open door. Matheus exhaled. He needed to bring Milo with him more often. He’d have spent half-an-hour arguing before Alistair gave up and stormed off in a huff.
“This is where you were taken,” Matheus said. “The first time for sure, probably the second time, too.”
“You were here too?”
“For a while.” Matheus sat next to Quin with the air of someone approaching a landmine.
“I remember other things. I had a house,” said Quin. “I came here after Venice. There was a man in a wig, and a woman. I remember arguing with Zeb. I don’t know why.” He frowned. “I don’t understand what is happening.”
“I know,” said Matheus.
Quin looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “I apologize.”
Matheus snorted. “For what? The list is running to phonebook length at this point.”
“For the police,” said Quin.
“Oh, good,” said Matheus. “I guess I can cross that one off.”
Quin let out a surprised laugh. He straightened, leaning closer. He traced his fingertips along Matheus’s jawline, around the shell of his ear. His fingers threaded through his hair, his palm coming to rest on the back of his neck.
Matheus held his breath. His hands curled into fists on his lap. Quin inched closer, his gaze searching Matheus’s face.
“I don’t know you, but…” Quin’s gaze dropped to his lips, pupils widening to obscure the hazel irises.
“But what?” Matheus felt fifteen again, all awkward nerves, excitement locking his joints, a trembling, waiting statue.
“It’s like there is a hole in my mind,” said Quin. “And you fit right in.”
He leaned closer, his tongue pressing against his upper lip. Then with a sharp movement, he pulled away. Twisting, he brought his legs up, planting his feet on the bench, his narrow frame tucked into the corner. Quin looked at Matheus over his knees, his expression locked and bolted. “Who are you? Why do I feel―?” He cut off with a slash of his hand.
“Feel what?” Matheus asked.
“Nothing.”
Matheus sighed. He stared at his shoes. Salt crusted the leather, one of the laces frayed to the point of snapping. Melting slush created a pool on the cement. Matheus traced out a pattern with the toe of his sneaker. He needed a pair of boots. Winter had three more months’ worth of snow to deposit.
Quin made a noise in the back of his throat. He nudged Matheus’s thigh with the toe of his shoe. He still wore the cheap suit, stained with blood and streaked with salt. “You said we were bonded. Why didn’t you come when I called?”
“I was busy,” said Matheus.
“Hmm,” said Quin.
“I felt it.” Matheus rubbed his palms over his jeans. “I’m not going to jump whenever you snap your fingers.”
Quin cocked his head to the side. “We must fight a lot.”
“You have no idea.” Matheus stood. “Are you coming back with us?”
“Do I have a choice?” Quin asked.
“You could hop a train, or rent a car. Plane travel might be a little tricky, but maybe you could ship yourself FedEx.”
“That is something I haven’t tried.”
“Wouldn’t have to worry about air holes.”
“Convenient.” Quin unfolded himself, rising. He adjusted his jacket, brushing a bit of invisible dirt off the lapel. “Unfortunately, I will be remaining here. There are gaps in my brain, and I intend to find out why.” He tugged at his cuffs, scowling as one the buttons popped off in his hand. “However, you will be buying me some new clothes, since I find myself currently broke.”
“Sorry,” said Matheus. “I’d return the money, but I need it.”
Quin shrugged. “I must have given it to you for a reason.”
“Probably to annoy me.”
“You don’t like money?”
“I don’t like being given money,” said Matheus.
Quin’s gaze went distant, piercing Matheus. “It’s a rot.” His voice came deep and slow.
“Yes,” said Matheus.
“We’ve had this argument before.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like this,” said Quin.
“At least you’re remembering things,” Matheus said.
Quin rolled his eyes. “I’m very comforted.”
atheus dropped Milo and Heaven off at the house, intending to flee before Alistair came out to yell at him. Milo promised to start a new search for Matheus’s father, but Matheus had no idea how he planned to do this. In Matheus’s mind, computers were a kind of magic box. He knew how to use the Internet, but little else. Milo’s abilities seemed to stretch into wizard territory.
Heaven hesitated before climbing out of the SUV. She walked around the front, stopping beside Matheus’s door. She knocked on the window, and Matheus lowered it.
“I do not think this is wise,” she said, in a low voice. “You should not go out alone.”
“I’m not alone,” said Matheus. “Quin is with me.”
“That is why I am worried,” said Heaven. “He is not in his right mind.”
Quin leaned over Matheus. “I promise to return him in one piece.”
Heaven’s hand shot out, grabbing Quin’s collar, dragging his shoulders out the window. Quin’s eyes widened. He choked, wiggling as he tried to pry Heaven’s grip loose. One hand scrabbled against the side of the SUV. Matheus leaned back in his seat, his arms held over his head, too stunned to do anything.
“See that you do.” Heaven thrust Quin into the SUV. He fell into his seat, and lunged for the door handle.
Matheus hit the gas, tires slipping. With his right hand, he grabbed Quin’s wrist, holding on with every last bit of strength he had. The SUV lurched forward, picking up speed as it plowed through the snow, bouncing down the drive. Quin’s hand flew off the door handle as the door popped open. He shouted a curse, searching over his right shoulder for the seat belt.
The wind caught the door. Matheus veered onto the road, releasing Quin’s wrist to hold the steering wheel with both hands. The SUV fishtailed, back end swerving violently.
“You are insane!” Quin yelled, finally snapping his seat belt into place.
Matheus slammed on the brakes. The SUV spun out, coming to a halt a hundred-and-eighty degrees in the other direction.
Quin closed his eyes, letting his forehead hit the dashboard. “I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You.”
Matheus reached over Quin’s ba
ck, pulling the door shut. “Rule one. I don’t care what you do to me, but don’t even think about touching my friends. Understand?”
“I’m going to rip out your spine via your throat,” said Quin.
“Yeah, yeah.” Matheus restarted the engine and executed a slow three-point turn. The SUV crawled down the road, snow crunching beneath its tires.
Quin continued his communion with the dashboard, occasionally muttering threats at Matheus. He didn’t move until Matheus stopped in front of the nearest Walmart.
He raised his head, blinking at the glowing letters on the building. “Oh, this is not happening. I’m in Avernus, aren’t I?”
“I don’t know what that is,” said Matheus. “But we’re just going to run in and you can grab some clothes.”
“Nope.” Quin shook his head. He gestured toward the screwdriver jammed in the ignition. “Start the car.”
“You know what you are? A snob, that’s what.”
“I can live with that,” said Quin.
“There seems to be remarkably little that you can’t live with,” said Matheus. “You have two choices: wear that suit until it dissolves, or suck it up and buy some cheap shirts handmade by small children.”
Quin stared in a horror at a couple heading for the entrance. The woman wore a pair of neon purple leggings, a leopard-print faux-fur jacket, and a pair of gold-sequined boots. Her companion had a flannel jacket, jeans slipping down to reveal a plumber’s crack, and a backward hat proclaiming a free offer of mustache rides.
Matheus snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Are you listening to me?”
Quin’s hand shot up. He grabbed Matheus’s wrist, dragging him across the seat.
Matheus kicked as Quin twisted his arm, his shouts muffled by Quin’s lap. He felt Quin digging through his pockets. The SUV rocked. Matheus hoped no one walked past. He knew what they looked like, and he’d rather not be arrested for public indecency. Especially without the fun of the indecency in the first place.
“Got it.” Quin let go, shoving him into the driver’s side door.
“You son of a bitch,” said Matheus.
Quin smiled at him. Matheus’s phone dangled between his fingers. “I just need to make a call. There’s a shop not far from here. The owner knows me.”
