After hearing a satisfied “oof,” I spun the rest of the way. Recognizing Tiny, I gave a silent yell and kicked up with my left foot into his already-swollen nose.
It was a beautiful move—too bad I wasn’t paying more attention.
A bigger goon with cheap aftershave moved behind me as I kicked. When I turned to make my way to the stairs, he nailed me with a two-by-four against my left cheek. Stars momentarily filled my vision, and I staggered. That second of lost footing gave my attacker the window he needed to grab me around the neck and press a gun to my head.
“I got her!” this guy yelled out. Ow…not so loud!
I could just see Rollins and six more WWE hustling up the steps through the stars in front of my eyes. Beckett flanked his boss. I could hear poor Tiny moaning nearby. Two hits to the same face. Yow.
The stars cleared as a Rollins’s bloody face loomed closer though he didn’t look at me. “Where was the intruder detected?”
“Near the east wing, lower level.”
“Which signal was it?”
The man holding me said, “Blue.”
Rollins nodded. “Physical. Could be the cop, come to save his little girlfriend.” Then he looked at me. “Stash her in the trunk of the limo. I want her bound and drugged, but unharmed.” He reached out and touched my forehead. The sense of oogy radiated off of this man, about like it had with Trench-Coat, and I tried jerking away from him.
“She’s my insurance policy with the Symbiont. Move the girl as well. We leave now.” Rollins and four of the goons marched back down the stairs.
Oh hell! Not the trunk again. I had a permanent phobia of trunks—not that I really remember my joyride in my Mustang’s trunk—but I do remember the aftermath.
When held from behind by an assailant, the proper thing to do is stomp down on his foot, turn, and knee him in the groin. And normally that works for me. Except I missed his foot, and when I tried to move, he clocked me with the gun.
Sonofabitch! That hurts!
Stars again, followed by a wee bit of nausea. Wraith…I needed to go Wraith. I also needed to get that ringing between my ears to stop.
I thought about Tim. If he had any tricks up his sleeve, now was the time to play them.
“Zoë.”
Speak o’ the devil.
“I can’t manifest, Zoë. That took too much out of me. If you could jump, maybe you could go corporeal and stop them. But if they hit you with that needle again…”
If I went unconscious, I would be immediately pulled back into my body and trapped inside. Same as before. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Time to go Wraith and get the hell out of here.
I relaxed as the big guy half dragged, half carried me.
I was amazed at how easy this was becoming, to just slip in and out of my body. And I wondered for a second if all the popping in and out wasn’t somehow like wearing down the silver cord connection.
Was it possible to break the cord? Could I sew it back on if I did? “Hey, I think the broad fainted.”
I stood to the side of them as the guy holding me paused near the stairway. Tiny had moved from the floor, another bloodied handkerchief over his face. Beckett turned and peered down at me.
Wait—broad? Who uses broad to refer to a woman nowadays? How quaint.
Jerk.
I wasn’t as wobbly in my astral form—evidently not experiencing the same physical effects as my body did. I watched my head roll to one side. Ew. My eyes were open. Staring. Hadn’t noticed that before.
He knelt and set me down on the floor. He was really kinda gentle too. “She’s purdy.”
Awww…
“She’s dangerous,” Beckett said, and I noticed he was looking about the hallway. “Shit, she’s out again. I say we tie her up right here and drug her.” He handed his gun off to Tiny and knelt beside me. I watched him pull out another set of those plastic things. Were these spelled too?
Tiny started going through my pockets. He took out my phone as well as the rock. He pocketed the phone but tossed the rock to the side. It knocked against a nearby wall and rolled still.
Uh-oh.
Tim appeared beside me. “You’ve got to get that rock back.”
I did. I became corporeal more easily this time and snatched up the rock. I was on Tiny before he could turn and smashed the rock into the side of his face. His gun went off, the bullet lodging in the throat of the one who’d hit me in the head.
Two down, one to go.
But I hadn’t been watching Beckett for a second time. With wide eyes he grabbed up the syringe and jabbed the needle into my neck.
Damn. I had only a few minutes before I’d get sucked back in again.
The lights dimmed.
“Zoë!” Tim hissed. “They’ve got company!”
Shadows moved to our right and left. People in black pajamas.
I looked at Tim. What the hey? Ninjas?
I counted six in all, three from the right and three from the left. It was at that moment I realized I could see them because I was Wraith—there was that heightened sense of the dark. It wasn’t that the lights dimmed—the lights had gone out!
Rollins’s men were blind!
They didn’t see the guys in pajamas. So they didn’t see what hit them as each was clubbed from behind or the side by a black-clad intruder. The men whose faces were as well hidden as their bodies bent over Rollins’s goons and disarmed them.
One of them grabbed my phone back out of Tiny’s pocket and shoved it into a black bag over his shoulder.
Popular phone.
To my surprise one of the larger shapes leaned over me—er, my body—and put two fingers to my neck. He looked at the others and nodded. And in one graceful move, he lifted me up over his shoulder and carried my body fireman style down the stairs.
What gives? I was convinced now that he wasn’t Daniel—unless Daniel was some clandestine member of a Black Dragon Yakuza cult or something.
“I think you’re being kidnapped—again.”
What the fuck? I looked at Tim. By who now?
The men were as quiet leaving the building as they had been entering. I heard the sound of several silencers, followed by the thuds of bodies hitting the floor. Tim and I peered over the side railing to see the six men leave out the front door.
I turned to Tim and noticed the rock on the ground.
The rock! Without it, Tim couldn’t travel with me—wherever that might be.
Tim was on the same page. I managed to become corporeal enough to pick the rock up, but when the same dizziness and nausea I’d had before returned, I tossed it inside one of the urns of a potted palm tree.
Tim spoke. “There’s nothing you can do, Zoë. You’re already fading.”
He was right. I could feel the pull of my body even at this distance. Oh this sucked. I couldn’t just leave Tim here! How was he going to get back to the house in Little Five Points?
This was just a really odd turn of events. First I’m kidnapped by Rollins’s boys, and now my body was out the door with a whole other group of kidnappers.
What gives? What is so all foul important about me?
I was lifted through the air as my cord pulled me back. Rollins’s men were scattered about the little drive area beneath an extinguished chandelier. A black limo, the trunk open, sat idling in front of me.
I had no idea which way the boys in pjs had gone. Until I heard a car start to my right. I looked down to get a good view of the cord at my belly button (you think there’s a connection between the fact that the silver cord holding the spirit to the body is located where the body was once connected to Mom?).
I blinked.
This probably wasn’t a good time for philosophical speculation. But my cord did trail off in that direction. Which was the direction I was now traveling. Very quickly.
I came upon a black kidnap van (the kind with no windows on the sides or back) parked just outside the gate entrance. I arrived just as the little group of six did
with my body.
That’s when I realized none of them were speaking English. The one carrying my body was helped inside by an Asian man in a black suit. He wore a headset with a mic in front of his nose.
The interior of the van was a mixture of ambulance and surveillance utility.
The pull on my cord strengthened, and the entire scene faded away as I slid back inside my body. There wasn’t any pain as I slid into unconsciousness, only the stray thought of what would happen to Tim.
Mom’s gonna kill me.
26
ONE day I’m going to take a tape recorder and walk along the streets of downtown Atlanta, and ask passersby what they did a week before Thanksgiving (this was all contingent on me kicking Trench-Coat’s ass and getting my voice back).
I’m sure most of them were busy buying groceries, baking cookies, calling friends and family, or even flying out to their destinations. You know, normal holiday stuff.
NONE of them were bouncing around from one kidnapper to the next, waking up from drug-induced sleeps (much less inside of morgue drawers…shit!) or being choked by wacky, strung-out televangelists.
No—that would be my life.
Waking up this time wasn’t as bad. I was in a real bed, not on a couch, and I wasn’t tied up in any fashion. Still had a headache though. Might be a lack of caffeine for the day.
Wait…what day was it anyway?
I smelled food—and my stomach let out a very embarrassing growl. When was the last time I’d eaten? Mom’s? She fixed biscuits, right? What time was it?
I felt soft sheets against my thigh and rump.
That opened my eyes. I pulled up the sheets and looked under them.
And where were my clothes?
I realized then I was on a very soft pallet on the floor. Several dim lamps sat around the room, giving things an eerie, brownish glow. I couldn’t see any other furniture, other than a low-legged black lacquered table to my left beside the bed. On top rested a small ceramic cup and a matching ceramic carafe. Condensation beaded on the outside.
Water?
Thirst overwhelmed all sensation, and I sat up, exposing breasts and all as a I bypassed the tiny cup, took the carafe in both hands, and guzzled the cold water inside.
Ouch. I winced from the cold. Brain freeze. But I didn’t stop. I was too thirsty.
I heard something and moved the carafe from my mouth, vaguely aware some of the water had spilled over my mouth and now dripped onto the blankets in my lap. The wall to my left and near my feet slid away.
“Ah, you are awake.”
An older Asian woman, maybe just the other side of a hundred, bowed. She wore a light-colored kimono that shimmered in the dim illumination. Her snow-colored hair was pulled back from a face devoid of any blemishes. Oh, she had wrinkles, but her skin was incredibly smooth to look at.
You know, that whole baby’s bottom kinda thing.
She knelt on the floor with a grace I’d never have. I felt my cheeks go bright red with the heat of embarrassment and wiped at my water mustache.
With a nod and bow, she took the now empty carafe from my hands and smiled. “I will have Dojima bring in clothing, food, and more water.”
This woman stood—a single fluid movement—and glided along the floor to the door. Just as she turned the corner another woman appeared. This time I yanked the cover up over my breasts. This kimono was much younger, with black hair that hung over her shoulders.
She brought in a small stack of clothes, set them inside the door, then came back with a tray of small plates and a larger carafe. To my surprise she winked at me before sliding the door closed.
Where the hell was I? Japan?
I stood, naked, and grabbed up the clothes. They were smooth, made from silk and cotton. It was a kimono of dark green. Simple. Luckily I’d worn one once, so I kind of knew how to put it on.
Afterward, I found a brush and comb on the table beside my bed and attacked my hair. It’d been washed—I knew this because it had a shitload of static in it. Which then made me freak out that I’d been bathed while unconscious.
Yow!
And tangles. I finally managed to separate it into three pieces and braid it. But with no rubber band—ah, there was one on the floor. Probably tucked in the kimono.
The food was incredible. Small dishes of things that smelled great, tasted better, and I couldn’t identify. That was okay. I used my chopsticks with gusto and almost gave myself a stomachache.
I’d finished up the entire carafe and was on my third cup of tea when the door slid open again. It was the nice older kimono. She bowed and beckoned me to come with her.
I hesitated. Call me suspicious—but my life in the past week had been no less than a roller-coaster ride of just way too much fun. I didn’t want to be led somewhere else where I might be vulnerable. And in physical body—I was just as susceptible to any physical danger as the next person.
I was positive I was going to see Hirokumi—who apparently knew more than he’d told Daniel in their meeting. If I could fool him—I believed I could fool anyone.
But where to put my body?
I looked at the old kimono in the doorway and held up a finger.
She seemed to understand the “wait a minute” gesture and slid the door shut.
A bit more exploring and I found a narrow closet near my sleeping pallet. The door slid to the side, and there was just enough room in there for me to sit against the wall.
With a glance at the other door, I scooted in and shut the closet. It was dark—darker than I’d thought it would be—and settled myself. I got as comfortable as a five-foot-nine body could get in a three-foot-five space. At least this wasn’t a trunk, and no one was gonna joyride a closet.
Once again I slid out of my body and opened my eyes to a world of sooty shadows and washed-out colors.
Whoohoo.
I held up my hands—transparent. I thought of Daniel. I thought of taking Daniel on my bed, of him beneath me, of him writhing in extreme pleasure.
Pop! I was solid. And what’s up with that? Thinking of sex makes me corporeal?
The world wasn’t as dim in this form, though I was still aware of a few things that scooted here and there. Things that—if I really analyzed their shapes—resembled wee little shadowy dragons. The colors of the room still looked muted. I didn’t know how long I could stay this way—as I believed Rhonda’s battery theory—but I’d rested (more than I’d wanted to) and I’d eaten. I could probably stay traveling for several hours, as long as I didn’t stay solid all the time.
I also didn’t have my watch. Come to think of it—where was my watch?
With a deep breath, I slid the door over myself and, after a well-subdued burp, followed her. I found myself trying to simulate her gliding walk—ain’t gonna happen.
I was too clumsy, even astral. And too tall.
We went through a maze of paper-covered hallways before turning a corner and confronting a large, double, sliding door. The old kimono knelt in front of the door and looked up at me.
Oh. Me too?
I knelt (oh man, my knee actually creaked—I wondered if the knee on my physical body had done it too—the noise echoing in my room), but I didn’t lower my head. I was too fascinated with the picture painted on the smooth paper doors.
At first it looked like two dragons fighting. But then it changed and I saw two people, on either side, apparently controlling the dragons. And as I looked at the door’s carvings, I noticed things in them. Painted ever so subtly were faces, bodies, animals, all worked together to create the image of the dragons.
It was really impressive.
The doors parted.
“Please, come in, Miss Martinique.”
I glanced at the old kimono. She was bowed completely over, her forehead touching the floor.
Standing, I moved through the doorway and into the room beyond.
It was like stepping through a time portal, from old Japan to present day.
T
he floors were polished hardwood, covered in deep green oriental rugs. The walls were made of dark wood as well, decorated with evenly spaced portraits. It reminded me just a bit of the hallway leading to Rollins’s office, only I couldn’t see who was in these pictures.
A large, ornately carved desk sat as the centerpiece of the room. Behind was a gold paneled screen painted with a similar scene as the one on the front doors. Two potted palms flanked the desk, giving the room an organic feel, and I heard the running water before I saw the fountain tucked into the right corner.
Very feng shui, you know.
Hirokumi sat behind his desk. He stood as I approached and moved around the desk. He wore what I guess was the equivalent of a man’s kimono. Black, wide sleeves. Looked comfy.
I was thinking that Daniel would look nice in one of these, with nothing on underneath.
Heh.
Hirokumi stepped toward me, his arms extended. “I hope you will accept my apologies, Miss Martinique. My name is Koba Hirokumi. I am a friend of Detective Frasier. I had no idea the Reverend’s men would intercept my message to you.”
His hands were warm as he took mine in his. I was afraid I’d go all transparent-like when he touched me, but I was apparently solid to him. His hands were strong too—solid. And I sensed something.
Power. This was a man to be feared.
Then what he said clicked in. Hirokumi had sent me the message to meet him, not Rollins. And he’d paid me. Which meant he knew my profession.
Ouch—people with money. Think they can just do what they want.
Sigh. Wish I was one.
When I didn’t speak, he gestured for me to take one of the chairs in front of the desk. I did, and instead of taking his position of power behind the ornate masterpiece, he sat in the chair beside me.
“I was very troubled when my men found your car abandoned and you missing. I knew then he’d either intercepted my e-mail to you, or had someone watching your mother’s house and followed you. But, in his rusting life, my foe has grown easy to read. I knew where he would take you and where he would keep you.
“You also left your phone on, which made it easier to track you.”
Wraith Page 29
