by Nina D'Aleo
“Not necessarily,” Rocco said, taking a sharp right turn.
“It’s not him,” I insisted. “If it was—he’d never call himself ‘the Horseman’. He was bitten by a horse when he was younger and he has a phobia of them.”
I closed my eyes and massaged my head.
“Even if you feel sure, you still can’t tell him anything. If Omen thinks you’re not working with us, he’ll see you as our enemy. He’ll withdraw all protection from your partner. And that’s the best case scenario.”
“Meaning what?” I demanded.
“Meaning Omen is unpredictable. If you anger him, he may hurt Dark.”
His words hit a very raw nerve inside me and I struggled not to start yelling at him, instead I said, “I still have to talk to the General. He’s rung me twice. If I don’t ring back he’ll think something’s wrong.”
“So call him,” Rocco said. “Tell him Twentyman is dead and how it happened, but do not say anything about Omen, the List or Pope.” He gave me a warning look as I dragged my personal cell out of my pocket.
I rang the General and heard his cheery voice asking me to leave a message. I hung up and dialed his home number. His wife picked up after several rings.
“Hello. It’s Silvia. I’m sorry to disturb you,” I said. “I just—really need to talk to Jack.”
The wife didn’t know his codename; she certainly didn’t know where he really worked. She thought I was one of his secretaries. They’d been married for more than forty years. I could hear their grandkids playing in the background.
“He’s not here I’m afraid, dear,” Mrs Marshall said in a soft voice. “But I can tell you where he is. He’s at the City Club having a drink with some old friends. Boys, hey?” She laughed.
I forced a chuckle. “Yeah, boys. Thank you. Hopefully we can catch up soon.”
“Lovely—you must come over for dinner.”
She’d said it every time we spoke for the last five years, maybe knowing, like I did, that it would never happen.
I thanked her again and we hung up.
“I need to see him,” I said to Rocco.
“As I said—see him—”
“But don’t say anything, I heard.” I cut him off.
Rocco changed direction, heading back into central Toran-R, where the City Club was located in a large high-fashion arcade.
I massaged my aching head—trying to get my thoughts together. “I feel like I’m losing it,” I murmured to Rocco.
“You’re okay,” he assured me. “You have to keep going. As I said, Omen won’t tolerate any breakdowns.”
“Except for his own,” I said bitterly. “Everyone else has to be made of stone and he gets to lose it every five seconds?”
Rocco’s eyes flickered toward me and he said, “Be careful, Silver.” After a pause, he added in a stilted kind of way that made it sound as if he wasn’t used to giving encouragement, “You’re doing fine. Most people would have broken by now.”
“It’s hard to have to suspect everyone you know,” I said. “It’s a bad feeling.”
“Better a bad feeling than a bad ending.”
“Do you know how the Horseman plans to use his army? Are they just going to attack humans in straight-out war?” I asked.
“I highly doubt that, but we don’t know,” Rocco said. “Omen has something he’s looking into.” He swooped the car into a space near the arcade. “Are you ready?”
I nodded—another lie. If I kept it up I might actually start believing it myself. And then what?
We moved through the exclusive shopping arcade, past designer fashion and shoe shops, a specialist paper maker, a jeweler that didn’t have its prices in the window—because if you had to ask apparently you were in the wrong place.
“Go in first,” Rocco told me as we approached the club entrance. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I nodded. The City Club was actually a men’s club, but women had recently been allowed in certain areas. Perhaps the City’s board were only just now receiving news of the sexual revolution, several decades behind everyone else. I entered through the automated swinging doors. With its gold trim, designer décor and subtle classical music, the reception area said “exclusive”. Unfortunately, the desk staff had interpreted that to mean snooty and condescending. The two desk boys looked me over in an unfriendly way as I approached. Look, I had to say, I’d definitely had enough of getting that look today. I remembered something the General had told me—act like prey and you’ll get treated like prey, act like a lion and you’ll get treated like a lion. At the time, I’d imagined a gazelle wearing a fake mane, but I’d understood what he meant.
I walked the last few steps to the desk with authority. I pulled out my federal badge and said, “I want to speak to Mr Jack Marshall.”
“Do you have an appointment to see him?” one of the guys said.
“No I don’t. Page Mr Marshall—now.” I stared him down until he cracked. I’d inherited the Sicilian Death Stare from my father—I made a note to use it more often.
The guy picked up the phone and spoke to someone. Behind me, Rocco entered the club. Immediately the faces of the desk staff transformed from disgruntled to almost adoring. It was such a rapid shift that it put my teeth on edge. Up against the Shaman skills, humans were like robots with buttons to press on and off. Rocco stopped at the desk and placed scarred hands down on the oak.
“I’d like some information on joining,” he said smoothly.
The receptionists jumped into action, tripping over themselves and each other to provide him brochures and information sheets. Several minutes into their groveling session, an internal sliding door opened and the General stepped out. He had a business-like look on his face that dissolved into surprise as soon as he saw me.
“Silvia!” He walked over. “Sorry for the delay, I didn’t realize it was you.”
“No, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to disturb you, I just really need to speak with you. I tried calling you back but it didn’t go through.”
He took his phone out and squinted at it. “It’s turned itself off again.” He said with annoyance. “I really hate this thing.” He patted down his tie and looked around the reception area. “Let’s go in there, shall we?” he said, pointing to a smaller room closed off from the main area by a glass door. I followed him in and he shut the door behind us. He took out a checking device and swept the room for bugs and tags. I sat down on one of the lounge chairs. A selection of the day’s newspapers and business magazines was arranged on the coffee table in front of the chair. The room smelled like businessmen—coffee, newspaper and cologne. I saw a flash in my mind of Eric cutting Twentyman’s throat and held my head, in pain.
The General settled down in the opposite lounge and fixed me with his incisive eyes. “You look very pale, my dear. Tell me everything that’s on your mind.”
For a second, I almost broke down. I wanted to tell him everything, for him to step in and save me, but I caught myself. I couldn’t risk it. Instead I did what Rocco had told me, and what I’d been practicing all day: I pushed the whole truth behind other thoughts and started in. I told him that I’d witnessed Eric kill Twentyman and dispose of his body.
At the end of it, the General looked pale himself. He swallowed slowly and ran a hand through his hair, thinking.
“You need to leave this with me,” he finally said. “It’s all part of what I’ve been looking into.”
He shifted on the couch and I noticed he seemed to be moving with pain.
“Are you all right, sir?” I asked.
“Honestly?” he said.
“Yes honesty would make a good change—I don’t mean from you,” I said to clarify. “Just in general.”
He smiled and said, “Of course … last night as I was walking to my car someone shot me.”
A prickling sensation washed over me. “What?”
“It just grazed my side, but still it wasn’t pleasant. It appears I’ve become a target. B
ut don’t worry,” he assured me. “I’m handling it. I know what’s happening and I’m not in any way defenseless.” He smiled and the sides of his eyes crinkled.
“What should I do?” I asked, my throat dry.
“Keep going as though you haven’t seen or heard anything, but don’t go anywhere isolated or alone. Is there someone, other than your family, who you can stay with?”
“Yes …” I managed to say. “I’m seeing someone.”
“Good,” the General said. “But watch out for him too. If I’m a target they may come after my close associates as well. You haven’t noticed anyone following you or anything unusual in that respect?” he asked watching me closely. I shook my head numbly. He leaned forward and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry. I know it all seems very frightening, but I’ve been through many of these situations in my life, when the tables seem to be turning against us, but you’ve got the training. You’ve got the skill. You’ll get through this. Just think with your mind and not your heart. All right? We’ll beat them.”
“It would help if I knew who ‘them’ was,” I said.
“Indeed it would,” the General agreed. “Which is why I’m here now.”
I realized I was busting in on him working and quickly stood up saying, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be! But I better get back to it.” The General stood as well and I followed him to the door and out. Rocco was still there quizzing the staff. The external doors parted and the General said, “Stay safe.”
“You too,” I said.
He smiled and turned away and I left, heading at a gradual pace toward the car. Soon Rocco appeared beside me.
“What’s the story?” he asked as we got into the car.
“I told him about Twentyman and he said he’d handle it.”
Before he could answer, Rocco twitched as though he’d been stung by something. “Omen is calling us in,” he said and by the look in his dark eyes I guessed that wasn’t a good thing.
23
I expected to return to the same northside fleabag, but Rocco sped southward instead into a suburb of gated-off estates. We turned into one of these exclusive communities and drove through streets of houses that made a normal four-bedroom double-brick look like an impoverished shack. If it had been a different time, a different situation, I would have enjoyed looking at the mini-palaces, imagining, dreaming. As it was, I just saw a blur of imposing gates and manicured lawns glowing under white spotlights, while sickness sat heavy in the pit of my stomach. After Omen’s call, Rocco had completely shut down. He hadn’t spoken a word or reacted to my questions and he was clenching his jaws so tightly there were ridges on the sides of his face. I didn’t need to read minds to know something was seriously wrong.
He swung into a cul-de-sac and pulled up outside a house. A path of lights led to a fortress-like front door.
“New meeting place?” I stated the obvious, still trying to break the silence.
“We change all the time,” Rocco finally responded. His voice sounded hollow and official. “For safety.” He opened his door. Then his eyes went back to mine and he said, “Stay behind me.”
The tone of his voice didn’t fill me with confidence. My hand went to the gun in my duty belt. It was potentially useless against Omen, but it had to be better than nothing.
We left the car and approached the front gate. It slid open automatically and we walked along the path in silence. Every instinct I had was telling me to run, but every thought in my mind was about Dark so I followed Rocco into the house. We passed through an entrance hall, immaculately elegant but so cold. I guessed people who could withstand freezing and burning didn’t generally need climate control. We took a left into a lounge room. It was full of rebel Shaman. Even though it was a completely different place, they were seated in the exact same order. The Order. Everyone turned to watch us enter—except Omen. He stood at the front of the pack with his back to us, working on his laptop. Marco was sitting at the same table, typing on his computer. He glanced up at us and his eyes betrayed his fear. He quickly looked back at his screen.
Morningstar also stood near the front. She didn’t seem to even notice me: she just stared at Rocco, her face tight with tension. Rocco gestured to me to stop at the door and continued on toward the Shaman leader. He stopped several paces from Omen’s back.
Eventually Omen straightened and turned around. He hadn’t shaved since the day before and looked even more unstable and wild. There was a look of starvation to his face and eyes, as though his grief was consuming him from the inside out. He smiled and it sent a shiver through me. The smile faded fast until there was nothing but fury in his stare. The tattoos of his arms started to move and snarl. Without sound or warning, Rocco dropped to his knees, shaking as though he was being electrocuted. I stared in shock.
“Stop it!” Marco leaped up, his chair smashing to the ground. “You’re killing him!” He tried to run to his brother, but hit an invisible barrier and staggered back. He burst into sobbing tears. Morningstar hid her face in her hands. Some of the other Shaman turned away, some just watched on impassive. I thought, Screw this, I’m not going to stand here and watch this psycho kill the man who has been protecting me. I grabbed for my gun.
Omen’s eyes flicked up to mine. He gestured and I flew sideways through the air, smashing against the wall and sliding to the ground. Sharp pains ran through my chest. Omen gestured again and Rocco stopped shaking. He let out a low groan and slumped to one side. He lay still for some time, before struggling up to his hands and knees. After another minute, he stood, swaying, blood trickling out of one ear. Omen squared up to him, their faces inches apart.
“If it wasn’t for your sister …” Omen whispered, almost inaudibly. He held the stare for a heartbeat longer and then he was coming toward me. I used the wall to drag myself up, and watched him come, like a fin cutting through the sea. I grabbed for my gun, but it was gone, maybe knocked out of my hands when I hit the wall.
Marco tried to get between us, trying to protect me.
“You—move.” Omen flicked his hand and threw the younger man to one side.
The Shaman leader came right up to me, right into my personal space. I did what Rocco had told me and pushed everything in my mind to the back and brought the first song I could think of to the front as a blanket—two thousand bottles of beer on the wall—two thousand bottles of beer. I met Omen’s eyes and his face registered surprise, then he smiled. He broke into chatty conversation, which didn’t quite read as authentic since his eyes remained crazy and threatening.
“Say—I heard your family are off on a trip.”
Weakness ran through me at the mention of my family.
“It was kind of Rocco to get them out of the line of fire—wouldn’t you say?”
I wasn’t about to say anything till I figured out where he was going with this.
“I would say it was pretty kind—and pretty stupid,” his voice turned to a snarl. “To jeopardize everything for four inconsequential humans. To tie up resources that we need and to try to hide it from me.” He shot Rocco a savage stare. My Shaman companion was now standing steadily, watching us, his expression carefully blank. He had gone against Omen’s orders to keep my family safe. I hadn’t realized.
“Luckily for him he wasn’t the one who tried to remove your partner from the hospital.”
I cringed. Obviously my contact had failed. What did that mean for Dark?
“Is he all right?” I whispered.
“He’s dead,” Omen said and I felt as though the floor had just dropped out of the room.
“Your contact,” Omen clarified a few seconds later, but with a look in his eyes that said he knew how I had taken it.
I struggled to breathe around the heart pounding in my throat. Finally I recovered, met Omen’s stare and said, “Do you blame me for trying?”
“Of course not,” Omen said. “I understand completely, which was part of the reason I was trying to help you, why I w
as offering protection for your family in return for you joining us. I opened my arms to you. Your actions, however, make it quite clear to me that you have mistaken my kind understanding for weakness and that you are really not paying your task the attention that it deserves—that it needs. So …”
He clicked his fingers and the flat screen at the front of the room flashed on—showing surveillance of Dark’s hospital room and the hall outside it. My partner lay vulnerable on the bed, still hooked up to the machines and bags of liquids.
“See those two there?” Omen pointed to two people dressed as police officers standing just outside the room. “They’re my people. See those two?” He pointed to another couple sitting on plastic chairs just along the hall. “They’re Pope’s assassins.”
He narrowed his eyes. His lips didn’t move, but he obviously sent a message. The two Shaman stepped away from the doorway. They started down the hall away from Pope’s people. The assassins reacted immediately. They got up and made a direct line for Dark’s room.
My panic flared and I said to Omen, “I will pay full attention to the task.”
“Will you now?” he said, his expression mocking.
“Yes I will—I promise.”
“You promise.” He laughed.
“I’ll go back to the office now—I’ll find the List,” I said.
“Well there’s a little something called a cover, Silver, which you blow when you start acting out of character. You can’t go back until your next shift starts, which means you wasted a whole day and now a whole night. While the Horseman continues to build strength, we’re sitting here in the dark!” His voice rose to a yell and I felt like I was hurtling through the air on a rollercoaster.
Rocco moved in closer behind him. The Shaman boss spun around and shouted, “You—back!”
He sent Rocco hurtling across the room, but he managed to stop himself before he smashed out through the window. The whole house trembled and I was reminded of the devastation Omen had caused at the Bushels’ house. I had a feeling that was nothing. Technically I had spent all day searching for the List, but I didn’t think arguing back was going to get me anywhere—except dead.
