Child of Fire: A Twenty Palaces Novel

by Harry Connolly

  I dragged Cabot into the hall. Docile or not, I didn’t want him waking up in the same room as them. Then I walked over and opened the front door.

  The EMTs were already jogging up the steps, a stretcher in their hands. Behind them was Emmett Dubois, his hand on his holstered weapon. Emmett squinted the length of the hall and saw Cabot lying at the far end, his shirt smeared with blood. Cabot shifted his leg, barely on the edge of consciousness.

  “He’s right this way,” I said to them, pointing to the open office door. They rushed past me.

  When I turned around, I saw Emmett Dubois pointing his gun at me. “Turn around, put your hands behind your head, and drop to your knees.”

  “I’m getting sick of having guns pointed at me.”

  “Ain’t that too bad.” He pushed me onto my stomach and began twisting my arms behind me. Cynthia stepped out of the office and saw us.

  “What are you doing?” she said. “He didn’t hurt anyone. He saved us.”

  She told him what happened. Emmett uncuffed me and helped me to my feet. He offered a brief but insincere cop apology and made a beeline for Cabot. Cabot had come around enough to rub the side of his jaw. Emmett rolled him on his stomach and cuffed him. Cabot didn’t resist.

  Cynthia stepped close to me. Her hands were shaking. “I have to go to the hospital. Will you drive me? I don’t think I can manage it right now.”

  “Sure,” I told her.

  The EMTs emerged with the mayor on a stretcher. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Emmett dragged Cabot to his feet and led him toward the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Cabot said. “I’m sorry, everyone. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  He went on and on like that. Hearing his meek, whining voice seemed to set Cynthia on edge, so I held her back to let the others get ahead. We stood on the front porch and watched them load the mayor into the back of the ambulance, and Cabot into the back of Emmett’s police car. They started their engines but didn’t turn on their sirens.

  After they had disappeared around the corner, Cynthia turned toward me. “Do I look terrible?” she asked.

  Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and her lip twisted down on one side as she fought back her tears. Her makeup was still perfect. “You can check yourself on the way. Do you have everything you need?”

  “No, I’ll be right back.”

  She rushed back into the house. I took the scrap of wood out of my pocket and laid it against the doorjamb.

  Nothing. The design churned at its normal slow pace. The Hammer house was no different from any other. I looked at the other two on the cul-de-sac. If I were Charles Hammer the Third, heir to a timber fortune and own er of a wildly successful toy company, which would I live in? A tiny brick house or an empty stone one?

  Neither, really. I started toward the brick house for no other reason than that it was slightly closer. I had only gotten a couple of steps when the door opened behind me.

  “I’m ready. Let’s go,” Cynthia said.

  She gave me the keys and I drove. She flipped down the passenger-side visor and studied her face. I tried not to pay too close attention as I wound my way through traffic, but I could see her hands trembling slightly.

  “Are you all right?” I asked her.

  “Yes. I think I’m going to be fine. What about you? Are you all right?”

  The question surprised me. For a second I thought she’d known about me in the library toilet. Hanging on, I wanted to say. Then I realized she was talking about Cabot and the gun. “I’m fine. Maybe I’ll freak out later, but I’m fine right now.”

  “You’re not really going to freak out, are you?” she said. “You’re just saying that to be nice.” I shrugged, and she laid her hand on my arm. Just for a moment.

  It was my turn to shiver. Damn, it had been a long time.

  We reached the hospital. I was glad to see that Ethan’s van was gone.

  The receptionist told us that the mayor was in intensive care. Cynthia seemed to shrug this off, but I was confused. “I didn’t think his wound was that serious,” I said. “It looked like it just grazed him.”

  “Well…” The receptionist looked around and then began shuffling papers on her desk. She looked up at Cynthia as though she was one of her supervisors. Maybe that’s what it meant to be part of a founding family-everyone treats you like you’re in charge. “I shouldn’t have told you that much. HIPAA rules.”

  Cynthia leaned forward and said, “Look-”

  “Is there someplace we can wait?” I interrupted. The receptionist called a volunteer, who led us to a waiting room on the third floor. We sat on a plastic couch beside a stack of bland supermarket magazines.

  “His wife hates me,” Cynthia said. “She hates me already. I just hope she doesn’t take another swing at me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she brought a hatchet. Good thing we’re already in a hospital.”

  She went on and on like that. Cynthia rambled, mostly about how much Farleton’s wife hated her. She didn’t mention Cabot at all, and I didn’t bring him up. Misery was pouring out of her, and I didn’t want her to shut me out. Not when I needed her to point me toward her brother.

  The door at the end of the hall opened, and Emmett Dubois entered. Trailing along behind him was a tall blond woman, probably just a year or two older than Cynthia. She was long-legged and wore way too much makeup on her lovely face. She looked utterly distraught.

  Cynthia jumped up. “Miriam, I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Miriam snapped. “I just want to see my husband.”

  Emmett stepped between them. “Let’s find Frank’s doctor. Would you come with me?”

  Miriam shot a withering look at Cynthia, then followed the chief down the hall.

  Peter Lemly rushed in. He was red-faced and sweating, and I could hear him panting from down the hall. He followed the chief and Miriam Farleton.

  “Did you see that?” Cynthia said. “She hates me.” I didn’t say anything. “She’s always hated me. Ever since high school. She was three years ahead and she dated Charles for a couple of weeks. He wouldn’t turn his life over to Jesus, though, and he got tired of hearing her talk about it. He broke it off with her, and for some reason she blamed me. She thought I was making fun of her behind her back.”

  “Were you?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew the answer already.

  “Hell, yeah. But Charles didn’t care what I said. He never cared. He always had to do things his own way.”

  “Your brother sounds like an interesting guy.”

  She didn’t take the bait. “I saw the way you were looking at her,” she said.

  I shrugged. “She and the mayor don’t exactly look like a couple, do they?”

  She laughed. “The whole town, men and women, felt the same way when they started going together. Frank was ten years older and even fatter than he is now-she’s worked on his weight over the years. He’s a good man, even if he’s kind of a wimp.” I didn’t mention that a real wimp wouldn’t have taken a bullet for her. “I think he’d be scooping ice cream in the back of a truck if he hadn’t married her. She’s the ambitious one. But they sure do seem to love each other,” she said. “No one really understands it.”

  “Maybe he cast a spell on her.”

  She turned and looked at me. She was measuring me, trying to see if I had dropped the word spell casually or if I was hinting at something. The way she looked at me told me what I needed to know. I wondered what would happen if I laid Annalise’s magic-detecting scrap of wood against her skin.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t ready to show my hand yet. She blinked and then shrugged, too. I wondered how much she knew about what was happening to the kids in town.

  “Where’s your brother?” I asked her. “I’d like to meet him.”

  She leaned back in her chair and looked at me sideways. “I’m supposed to be asking you questions, remember?” She had a half smile on her lovely face. It looked good on her, but it was too p
racticed. “I asked you to come to my house so I could shine a bright light in your face and pepper you with questions.”

  “Okay, but let’s leave out the badge-wearing goons.”

  “I think we can go goonless for now.”

  We smiled at each other.

  She asked me a couple of questions about Annalise’s meeting with Able Katz. I answered with harmless lies. The questions she asked told me more about her than she realized. I figured she must not have friends in the company or any pull with her brother or she would already know the basics.

  Emmett Dubois arrived. He told us that he would need statements from both of us. Strictly routine, he assured us. Cabot had already confessed.

  This time, I wanted to put him off until I could talk to a lawyer. Maybe Annalise would hire one for me, but Cynthia turned to me and said: “Why don’t you go first? I want to wait and explain things to… you know. Be nice to him, Emmett. He saved my life. Frank’s, too.”

  “Of course I will, Cynthia,” Emmett said.

  We left the waiting area and walked into an empty room. Emmett set his folder and his hat on the bed, then took a tape recorder from his pocket.

  “Do you mind if I tape this?”

  “I guess that’ll be all right.”

  He turned on the machine and recited his name, my name, the date, and other information. Then he asked me what happened.

  I told him, with a couple of modifications. I didn’t tell him about the fire on the basketball court. I didn’t tell him that I had gone there looking for Charles with the intent to kill him. I didn’t tell him that I chunked into the toilet, and I didn’t tell him that I’d cut the gun with the ghost knife.

  I did say that the gun fell apart after it fired that first time. I said I felt lucky that I hadn’t been killed, and that I personally didn’t think I’d saved anyone’s life. Cabot’s gun was defective, and I coldcocked him. Even if I hadn’t been there, I said, he couldn’t have done more than he did.

  We went over it again, this time focusing on why I was there, why Cynthia had invited me, and why I had gone. I had sensible answers for everything, and he didn’t seem concerned.

  It was the friendliest conversation I’d ever had with a cop. It made me a little nervous, but I did my best to smile and act friendly in return.

  Finally, he shut the recorder off. “That jibes with what Cabot told me, although he claims that you broke the gun with your bare hands.”

  “Heh! Really? Weird. Someone should tell him guns are made of metal.”

  Emmett chuckled. “That’s what I figured. We did take the gun into evidence, though. It was in a strange condition.”

  “How so?”

  “It didn’t explode, the way guns do when the barrel is jammed. It was sheared apart. Like it was cut.”

  “Is that unusual?” I asked, being careful to look him in the eyes-but not too closely-and not to touch my face.

  “I’ve never seen a weapon fail that way. Never heard of it, either.”

  “Weird. And lucky.”

  He looked at me for a moment, then smiled. He was a friendly guy today. “It sure was lucky.” He began to gather his stuff. Then he stopped and looked at me again. He knew something he wasn’t saying.

  There was something else going on here. There was something I wasn’t seeing.

  And honestly, I didn’t like being on such friendly terms with Emmett Dubois.

  “Excuse me, Chief,” I said. “Can I ask your opinion on something?”

  “Okay. What is it?”

  I opened my jacket wide, so that when I reached into it he would see there was no gun. I drew out the scrap of wood.

  “This is a little something that I’m trying to sell to Hammer Bay Toys. I think it’s a neat little trick.”

  I set the scrap of wood on the bed beside his folder. The design on the front continued its slow, implacable churning.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. He looked down at the moving paint, obviously intrigued. Then he looked up at me. “May I?”

  “By all means,” I said.

  Emmett picked up the scrap of wood. As soon as he touched it, the design went dark. A tiny flare appeared on the wood, and then a jet of black steam and iron-colored sparks erupted from the design.

  The chief had a predator inside him.

  Emmett dropped it and jumped back. He laid his hand on his weapon. “What the hell was that?”

  “This,” I said, “is a Geiger counter for magic.” I picked it up. My tattoos and ghost knife made the design flare silver for a second. “You have some kind of nasty spell on you, Chief. What is it?”

  He stared at me, his eyes wide. I stared back. Was he involved in the deaths of those children? Did he even know about them?

  “Come on, Chief. Tell me what’s going on here. What’s happened to you? What’s happened to your town?”

  “Who are you? What are you doing in this town?”

  “You already know who I am. You read all about what I did last fall. As for what I’m doing here, there’s something wrong in this town. I’m here to fix it. Party’s over, Chief. We know about you now.”

  He sniffled. I had spooked him. He wasn’t used to that. “Maybe I should take you in-”

  I laughed. “You don’t have any idea what I am, do you? I’m not going anywhere with you this time. You’re going to have to tread carefully.”

  It was a bluff, but I wasn’t going to put myself at his mercy. He was infected and had to be destroyed. Once Annalise found out, she’d pinch his fat head off.

  But was Emmett an underling? The secret source of Charlie Three’s seizures? Or was he another victim?

  Emmett glared at me and backed toward the door, his hand on his weapon. I just smiled at him. He left.

  I sat for a moment, thinking about Cynthia, the mayor, and Cabot. Was Cynthia in on it with her brother and Emmett? Was Farleton in on it, too? Maybe Cabot was trying to put a stop to the deaths. It was something to think about.

  I walked back to the waiting room. Cynthia was still sitting on the plastic couch. I was startled to see Annalise on the other side of the room, incongruous in her oversized fireman’s jacket, steel-toed boots, and tattered pants. For one absurd moment, I thought she’d come to be treated for her burned hands.

  Cynthia stood when she saw me. “Was he decent to you?”

  “He was fine.”

  She rubbed her hands on her pants, looking uncomfortable. She wanted me to keep her company, but Annalise was already moving toward me. Cynthia sat again. Annalise took my elbow and led me down the hall out of earshot.

  “What have you been doing?” she asked.

  “Making enemies. Friends, too. The chief of-”

  “That girl said you saved her life,” Annalise interrupted. “Is that true? Who is she?”

  It seemed funny that Annalise was calling Cynthia a girl. Cynthia looked to be six or eight years older, but looks can be deceiving. “Sure, it’s true. And she’s Cynthia Hammer, sister to Charles Hammer the Third. She’s the one who was following us in the SUV.”

  Annalise glanced back at Cynthia, making sure she was still on the couch. “I want you to fuck her,” she said. “Then find out everything you can, especially where her brother is. I can’t track him down.”

  “You’re a real class act, boss.”

  “Just do it. I have work to do in the morgue.”

  She turned on her heel and stalked away. I wondered again how many dead bodies she had seen, and how long it had taken her to become what she was.

  And she hadn’t even given me a chance to tell her about the predator in Emmett.

  I ran into the hall, calling her name. She stopped and turned toward me. A passing nurse shushed me forcefully.

  “What is it?” Annalise asked.

  “Predator,” I said, my voice low. She tensed and leaned toward me. I had her attention. “Inside Emmett Dubois. I don’t know what it is, but I’d guess his brothers are infected, too.”

 
“How do you know this?”

  I removed the scrap of wood from the inside of my jacket. She frowned and took it from me.

  “Did he see this?” she asked, holding up the slowly moving design.

  “Yep.”

  Annalise nodded and pocketed the scrap of wood.

  “You have your next assignment,” she said, and walked toward the elevators.

  I went back to Cynthia. She was, apparently, my next assignment. Spending the night with her wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, but I didn’t like that Annalise had ordered me to do it. I didn’t even like the idea that she would know. It was creepy. I sat a little farther away from Cynthia than I had before.

  “Is that your wife?” Cynthia asked. “Your girlfriend?”

  I was honestly confused for a moment. “Who?”

  “That redhead. The one you were just talking to.”

  I laughed. “Sorry,” I said. “But that’s funny. She’s actually my boss, and she hates my guts.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Well,” she said, “I’m glad she’s not your girlfriend.”

  That was my cue to say something smooth. Before I could think of something, the door to Frank’s room opened and Miriam stepped out.

  “Are you Ray?” she asked me.

  I stood. “I am. Is there something I can do?”

  “He wants to talk to you.” Her lips were pressed together in disapproval. She pointedly did not look at Cynthia.

  I moved toward her and the door. “Is he well enough for that?”

  “No, he isn’t. The gunshot wound was minor, but he had a heart attack in the ambulance. The surgeon is on his way to the hospital now. But he insists on speaking to you.”

  “I’ll be quick,” I said, and went into the room. She shut the door behind me, remaining in the hall.

  Frank lay in the hospital bed, tubes running out of his nose. Peter Lemly stood by the side of the bed, and another man stood beside him. He must have arrived during my interrogation, because I didn’t recognize him. He was tall, straight, and serene, with graying hair carefully styled. He was the third of the four men who had met with Emmett Dubois beside the van when I saw Charles have a seizure. He turned toward me without meeting my gaze, and I saw that he was wearing a clerical collar.