So nice of her, Valerie thought, to think I might have a man in my life.
“Maybe,” Valerie said.
“Yay!” The blonde bounced in her seat. “I’m so excited for my tour!”
Valerie backed down the drive. “Welcome to Sleepy Hollow, Miss Stone.”
“Oh please, girlfriend! Call me Jessica!”
My house could never be this clean, thought Hadewych.
Usher’s house was immaculate. Due to the man’s allergies, not a speck of dust was allowed on any of the surfaces. No houseplants either, of course, and certainly no ashtrays. The polished wood of Usher’s desk bore not a thumbprint. Hadewych imagined how this office would look if it were his own: dirty dishes and soda bottles, wet coffee rings on the wood, pizza boxes and dust bunnies and unpaid bills.
This was the most intimidating thing about Usher. Not his height or his money or his power or his impressive head of hair, but the sense of control he exhibited in everything he did. The room made Hadewych miserably envious, not of what the man had but of what the man was.
Hadewych shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Why was he kept waiting? Paul had never kept him waiting this long before. Was Usher angry? Why would he be? No one knew Hadewych had anything to do with New Year’s. Except that little bastard Jason.
Hadewych had returned to his storage unit to find it ransacked and his papers gone. He’d hidden the reliquary elsewhere, of course. He took out his key ring, fingering the new brass key there. Yes. The horrible thing was well hidden now, where Hadewych wouldn’t even have to look at it. He shoved the keys back into his pocket. Maybe it would be better if Jason died in the hospital.
Hadewych clenched his fists. No. Then he’d lose control of the Legacy. But the boy could ruin him! What would Jason do when he was well again? What if he went to the police? Well, at least that last possibility didn’t worry Hadewych too much. Usher’s propaganda team had covered it all up with remarkable efficiency. It had truly been an amazing feat. Hadewych had never dreamed that Usher possessed so much power.
And, oh, he wanted it. He could taste it, like blood in his mouth, as a wolf after a hunt. What had Dylan written? Academic knowledge counts very little in life. What matters is wealth, and power, and secret knowledge—not of things written in books, laid bare to the sight of any man, but of the things in shadow, hidden to all but the initiated.
A thought came unbidden. What if Jason told Usher what he knew? Hadewych went cold. What if Usher’s power were turned against him?
Three propaganda posters loomed behind Usher’s desk. Framed vintage posters. One from Nazi Germany, one from Soviet Russia, and one from Mao’s China. All three had the same general message: “Onward to the future, Comrades!” They were meant to be ironic, of course, all in good fun.
“Sorry to keep you.” Paul entered and slid behind the desk. “Debate prep. You know how it is.”
“Of course,” said Hadewych, feeling small. Usher’s desk was raised slightly to give the impression of a dais. “I only need a minute.”
“It’s all I can give you. So. Brass tacks. What is it, old friend?”
Hadewych smiled. Usher had put him at ease, like a good politician. “I want to join you,” Hadewych blurted.
“On the trail? No. You wouldn’t have any fun.”
“I mean ‘you’ plural. I mean—” he lowered his voice, “—I want to join the Gifted.”
Usher stared at him for a long time. “No idea what you mean.”
“Don’t you?”
Usher remained mute.
“Come on, Paul. I’ve known about your world since—since right after Jessica left. My family knew about the Gifted. They wrote it all down.”
Usher looked at him with puzzled eyes. “Hadewych, are you okay?”
“Don’t imagine I’m delusional. I…” He stopped himself. Was he delusional? No. There must be others. He was almost positive that Usher was one of them. Why would Paul lie about it? Unless… the Curse? Of course. Hadewych leaned forward. “You can tell me. I have a Gift too. I can prove it.”
“What can you prove?”
Hadewych hesitated. Here goes. Hopefully he wouldn’t set Usher’s desk on fire. He raised a hand, palm up, and concentrated, willing the flame to come. Nothing happened.
Usher gave that puzzled look again. “Am I supposed to give you something?”
“No. Just give me a second. I’m a little nervous.”
Hadewych concentrated. He thought of Agathe, felt her presence, nudging his Gift along. A tiny ball of fire lit in his palm.
Usher gasped and pulled away. “How are you doing that?”
“What do you mean?” asked Hadewych. “It’s my Gift. See? You can be honest with me. I won’t be cursed.”
Usher rose to his feet. “Help!” he shouted.
“It’s fine! It’s fine!” said Hadewych. He cupped his hands and the flame vanished. One of Usher’s men—Red—appeared at the door, pistol raised.
Usher’s face brimmed with terror. He stabbed a finger toward Hadewych. “He’s a witch! A witch!”
Hadewych was horrified. He’d been so sure about Usher. Oh, God. Had he cursed his dear friend now? “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Hadewych stood, hands raised.
Usher burst out laughing.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I just wanted to see your face.”
He made a gesture. Red left, closing the door.
Hadewych slipped back into his seat, both palms pressed to the top of Usher’s desk. “I was right.” He felt a rush of excitement. The doors were opening at last. “It’s all true.”
Paul fell into his chair and opened a drawer. He popped a lemon drop in his mouth and turned it in his cheek. “What do you think you know?”
“My grandmother used to say that the world was run by a handful of powerful magicians. That if you had a power—a Gift—they would welcome you in. Her own grandfather could make fire like that, but the Gift had dwindled away over the generations. She couldn’t do it. My father either. My ancestor Dylan wrote all about it. He could do it. And Brom could. And Brom’s mother. Now it’s come to me.”
“And?”
“And I know about the Curse. That if any normal person finds out what we are they end up…”
“Dead.”
“Yes.”
“And you think I’m one of these ‘Gifted’ people?”
“Aren’t you?”
Usher paused, savoring the moment. He cracked the lemon drop between his side teeth, chewed it, and swallowed. “Yes.”
“What can you do?”
Usher raised his palm, and for a moment Hadewych expected a ball of fire to appear. “Prophecy,” Usher said.
“And Jessica?”
“No.” Usher said firmly, looking away.
Hadewych nodded. “I thought she might have been. I used to tell her the stories. When we dated. And always felt that she knew something.”
“Oh. Sorry. I was answering a different question.”
“Which?”
“No. You can’t join.”
Hadewych stared at his friend. “But I’m one of you.” Usher shrugged. Hadewych slapped the desk with his palms, angrily. “I demand that you let me—”
“You don’t demand anything,” said Usher, rising. “You listen to me. No one raises their voice to me. Not in my own house. Not in this office. You want to be on the inside? You have to earn it.”
“Then let me earn it.”
Usher leaned over the desk. “Tell me the truth, to start. What do you know about New Year’s?”
“Nothing. I told you.”
“I don’t buy it. I know all about your family. I’ve known it for years. The Van Brunts have always been tangled up with the Horseman tales. You think I’d live here all these years and not do my research? And you talk, Hadewych. You love to brag. You opened your family tomb last year. Then the old woman died and now you’re screwing the Crane boy out of his money. Yes, I knew that. And I helped you. Out of fri
endship. But then… New Year’s. The Horseman just happened to go after your ex-wife first thing? She may not realize that yet, but it’s obvious. Don’t take me for a fool. You’ve obviously been dabbling with magic. That sometimes awakens a dormant Gift. And you’ve dabbled recently, or else your Gift would have come long before this. And you would have come to me, wouldn’t you? I think you found something in that tomb, killed the old woman with it, and now… you think you’re powerful. Does that sum things up?”
They stared at each other. Hadewych put his hand on Paul’s sleeve. “How could you think such things about me?”
Usher pulled away, shaking his head.
Hadewych raised his voice. “You know me, Paul.”
“Yes. I do.” Usher circled the desk, turning to look at the propaganda posters, his back to Hadewych. “I read your future, you know. Back when we first met. Remember? Jessica introduced us. At that terrible Christmas Party her parents threw. ‘This is my husband.’ The two of you were in difficult straits. The GM plant had just closed. She asked me to give you a job.”
“She never told me that. Why didn’t you?”
“I should have. I read you that night. I usually wait to read new people. I can only read a man’s future once. Afterwards he’s dark to me. It’s best to wait until you know what questions you want answered. But I was curious about you. The last descendant of Brom Bones. That is a… supernatural provenance. So I read you.”
“What did you see?”
“I asked my Gift whether you and I would be allies. Does this man have a Gift?” He turned to face Hadewych. “And I saw today. Us. Here. Right now. You sitting across my desk with a ball of flame in your hand, asking to join. We don’t call ourselves the Gifted, incidentally. We are the Appointed. We’re very selective. We have to be. We’re the chosen protectors of mankind.”
Hadewych’s blood ran cold. His eyes flickered to the posters. The Reich. The Supreme Soviet. The Great Leap Forward.
“I saw this day,” said Usher. “But I never saw my reply. I always thought I would say yes.”
“Then say it.”
“But there’s so much I didn’t see. Not until now.” Usher stepped in behind Hadewych, lowering his voice. So close that Hadewych could smell Usher’s breath and the residue of the lemon drop. “You’re an asshole,” Usher whispered. Hadewych tried to turn in his seat, but Usher’s hands were on his shoulders, pressing him down. “You’re an asshole and a liar, possibly a murderer. You’re a climber. And a fool.” Usher pivoted and sat at the edge of the desk, looking down his nose at him. “You’re a wannabe.”
“How dare you.” Hadewych tried to rise.
“Sit!” Usher snapped. Hadewych obeyed meekly. “I’m not finished! What happened between Zef and my daughter?”
“I don’t know. That’s the truth.”
“She won’t tell me either. Zef hurt her somehow. Hurt her terribly.” Usher softened. “Maybe… if our kids work things out. Maybe if you and I do become… in-laws… maybe I’ll feel differently. But for right now, Hadewych—” He put a dress shoe in Hadewych’s crotch and pushed the chair over backwards. “I don’t even want you in my house.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“The Lava-Surfer”
Jason’s eyes stung with salt. The Nightmare had scattered. The feeling of power and vitality had ebbed away, like a tide going out to expose a seabed of vulnerability and weakness.
Three pale blue stripes hung above. Fluorescent fixtures. His face felt blistered by them, as if he lay in a tanning bed. And something invisible sat on his chest. A sweven. He raised a hand to brush the thing away, but nothing was there. Yet the weight of that nothing increased, flattening his lungs, which convulsed, painfully. Air lurched into his mouth, puffing his cheeks, breaking the seal of his parched lips. He licked them. That was better. He swallowed and looked around.
He discovered more blue stripes on the sleeves of his pajamas. His fingers found a wet pillow under his head, a plastic tube taped to his cheek. It pushed cool air into his sinuses, which were painfully dry. He grew aware of another pain, this one in his hip. Fishing under the blankets, he discovered a bed control. He’d been sleeping on it. And for how long? His finger hit a switch and his shoulders pitched forward. He was in a hospital room. The motion flattened his lungs again. He coughed in earnest.
A severed head lay at his feet. He blinked and pulled his legs away, twisting to one side. The coughing intensified, and he pressed a fist to his mouth. The severed head rose, turned, and grinned.
“Hey, you,” said Joey. “About time you woke up.”
Jason couldn’t reply. His whole body fell into the coughing. Joey rose and fetched a bottle of water from the rolling side table. Jason reached past, grabbed a tuft of Kleenex from a box, and spit something slimy into it. He wadded the thing, afraid to look. Joey handed him the bottle and Jason accepted it gratefully. The water was as sweet and intoxicating as frozen vodka.
“Go slow,” said Joey. He took the bottle and the wadded Kleenex.
Something green and leafy loomed nearby. A plant in a purple pot with a bow and a card: From Valerie. The side table bore a sippy cup, a bottle of pills, and a half-rolled tube of diaper-rash cream. Jason picked the tube up and croaked, “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“The nurse.” Joey smiled. “And she’s very pretty.”
“Thank God. How long have I—”
“Been here? Almost a month, ya sicko.”
“A month?” Jason scratched his cheeks. The plastic tube felt like an insanely retro moustache, a big waxed cartoon thing like Salvador Dali’s—that guy who painted the melting clocks. Yeah. All Jason’s clocks were melted now. “I’ve been in this bed for a month?”
“Three weeks. Before that, the ICU. They thought you were going to—check out, Jase. You know—”
“Die?” Jason’s voice grew small. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Pneumonia, to start. And some bacterial infection. Probably from the trash you were in. No frostbite. Good thing you had your gloves. But they’ve been worried about sepsis. I’m not sure what that is, but apparently it’s some dangerous shit.” Jason tried to sit up more, but Joey put out a hand. “Stay there. You’re not done yet. You’re swimming in antibiotics. Let them work.”
“Is Hadewych in jail?”
“No. Why? He didn’t do this to you.”
Jason took another drink of water. So good. “New Year’s. He killed all those people.”
“You mean the attack? The assassination attempt on Usher?”
“The what?” Another coughing fit.
“Here.” Joey fished in his knapsack and produced a page of newsprint. “I figured you’d want this.”
It was the Washington Post from January second. The cover story, in more ways than one:
ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON US SENATE CANDIDATE
By Kathy Wallace, Associated Press
U.S. Senate candidate Paul Usher, a Massachusetts Democrat, and at least seventeen other people were attacked on New Year’s Eve when unidentified assailants attacked a fundraiser where Usher was meeting with constituents. Twelve of the victims died, among them Martin Coy, 61, governor of the New York Federal Reserve and former head of Zelig Financial, a Wall Street hedge fund. Estelle Lockheart, 70, widow of Zelig’s CFO Colm Lockheart, was also killed. Other victims included Usher’s security agent, Dexter Troy Omelchuk, 42, and Mount Pleasant mortician Vernon McCaffrey, Jr. One unidentified male is reported to be in a comatose state but stable.
State Senator Usher, who authorities called the target of the attack, was in good condition Sunday morning at the University Medical Center of New York, where he received treatment for a shoulder injury.
President Enright, speaking from the White House, spoke highly of his friend and Yale classmate Usher, saying, “I am horrified by this cowardly attack. An attack on one public servant is an attack upon us all.”
According to witness Jessica Bridge, approximately thirty-four guests and b
anquet staff were on site when the incident occurred around 12:30 a.m. The midnight festivities were drawing to a close when unknown assailants cut power to the building. Gunfire was exchanged with persons unknown. Alfred “Red” McCreery, Usher’s head of security, reported seeing “seven or eight men with masks, with weapons ranging from rifles to machetes.” Some of the victims have been reported to have been beheaded. The U.S. capitol police, who responded to the attack within hours, cautioned lawmakers “to take reasonable and prudent safety precautions.”
Director Angela Hoskins Killian of the Federal Bureau of Investigation is on her way to New York to oversee the investigation. Evidence is said to link the gunmen with organized crime, and Killian suggested as a motive for the attack Usher’s support of legislation strengthening the punishment for money laundering and drug trafficking. The style of the attack also raised questions about potential involvement by radical jihadist organizations.
Usher has been embroiled in a high-stakes primary competition for the Democratic nomination, facing off against Harvard Dean Gavin Hywel for the seat vacated by the death of six-term incumbent Frank Slezinski. The contest has been nicknamed “the Yale-Harvard brawl” by the Boston press, who have for the most part supported Hywel and have decried Usher as a “New York carpetbagger.” Snap polling out of Massachusetts, however, suggests a post-attack upswing in Usher’s direction, bringing him into the lead with three months left before the primary is decided.
Volunteers at Usher’s campaign office in Danvers, Massachusetts vowed to redouble their efforts on the senator’s behalf. “Paul is one of those who remember you,” said Kirsten Fresh-Winchester, 23, who has been canvassing her South Boston neighborhood on Usher’s behalf. “He loves everybody and he’s easy to talk to. He really cares about Massachusetts, and all our futures.”
Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones Page 36
