The darkness at the edges of my mind crept closer and I felt something burst inside my sinuses, like I’d just taken a baseball to the face. It took me a moment to realize that I’d struck the floor when I fell the rest of the way. Seconds later a warm trickle began leaking from my nose as a harsh buzzing filled my ears, drowning out the sounds of those fighting in the room around me. Eventually, the darkness became too overwhelming and at last I gave up, letting myself be swept away on the tide of oblivion.
20
ROBERTSON
Finally, after months of successfully eluding them, Hunt had made a mistake.
Robertson had known it was going to happen: sooner or later, even the best of them fucked up. Not that Hunt fit into that category, but still, you had to respect the man for managing to stay on the run for so long. Which was why Robertson was so surprised at how this one had gone down. After all, Hunt hadn’t seemed like the partying type. Yet that’s exactly what proved to be his downfall. He was seen by a retired cop hanging out at a local music hall in the Quarter. That was just the kind of witness Robertson could get behind, a guy who could think on his feet and who was smart enough to let the professionals handle the takedown.
It had been the weirdness surrounding the guy that had caught the retired officer’s attention.
“It was like he had this magnetic field around him,” he said on the phone with Robertson, “pushing everybody else away from him. It didn’t matter where he went, nobody came within five feet of the guy.”
At first the witness wasn’t positive he’d ID’d him correctly. Hunt had dyed his hair and grown a beard to disguise himself and had even worn a long-sleeved shirt to hide his tattoos, but the witness had seen them when Hunt had pushed his sleeves up for a moment. The ex-cop had the presence of mind to snap a picture with his cell phone and then later match that with the Most Wanted poster on the FBI Web site. Convinced he’d spotted a top ten fugitive, the cop called the local FBI office and reported the sighting. When a copy of that cell phone image arrived in his e-mail in-box, Robertson wasted no time in getting his pilot to turn around and head for New Orleans.
Once there, a team was hastily assembled. It consisted of a mix of local agents and men that Robertson brought with him from Washington. One group was sent to wander the Quarter on the off chance they ran into Hunt again. The other group was deployed in two-man teams and spent forty-eight hours checking the hotels that were a short cab ride from the Quarter, the general consensus being that Hunt, as a fugitive, would have wanted to lose himself among the tourists. When the obvious choices hadn’t produced any results, Robertson ordered every hotel in the city to be checked, regardless of how much time or man power it took. He’d settle up with the financial folks later; right now there was no way he was going to let Hunt slip through his fingers again.
To prove just how serious he was about the situation, Robertson partnered with Agent Doherty and took to the streets himself. The two of them were currently working through the list they’d been given for the day, a series of second-rate hotels and flophouses just north of the Mississippi River.
The hotel he currently stood in front of was called the Majestic, but that appellation must have been a holdover from the good old days, for there was nothing majestic about the place now. It was just the kind of rat hole that he could imagine a cop killer like Hunt hiding in, and Robertson felt a short surge of anticipation as he crossed the lobby toward the clerk behind the registration desk.
“Have you seen this man?” Robertson asked him, holding out the photograph so the clerk could see it.
The other man never even looked up from the old black-and-white television he was watching. Didn’t even do so much as glance at the photo before shaking his head and saying, “Nope. Never seen him before.”
That wouldn’t do, Robertson thought, pursing his lips in disapproval. Wouldn’t do at all.
The clerk was as run-down as the hotel itself, all thin limbs and pasty white skin. Probably hadn’t worked out a day in his life, something that Robertson himself pursued with a dedication that bordered on religion.
Without any warning, Robertson reached out, grabbed the other man by his greasy hair, and slammed his head down on the top of the registration desk.
“Oww!” the clerk cried out.
He tried to get up, but Robertson wouldn’t let him, holding his head down against the countertop with the strength of one hand. The FBI agent leaned over and got nose to nose with the clerk, staring him directly in the eye.
“Do I have your attention now, you little piece of shit?” he asked in a tone of voice that was scarier for how calm it was.
The clerk nodded vigorously, too worried about what was going to come next to speak.
Robertson produced the photo once more, holding it where the clerk could see it.
“Have you seen this man?”
The clerk took one look and nodded vigorously. “Yeah, I think so. His hair is blond now, though.”
Robertson smiled.
Gotcha!
He pulled his hand back, letting the other man straighten up and try to regain some of his dignity. After a moment he said, “You were saying?”
The clerk visibly swallowed, clearly afraid. Robertson’s smile grew wider at the sight.
“Um … yeah, yeah I’ve seen him. He stayed for a night and then checked out telephonically the next morning with that other guy and the woman he came in with. Someone picked up their luggage a short time later.”
The other guy was probably Dmitri Alexandrov, the man who’d helped Hunt escape from police custody in Boston.
“Did you catch the woman’s name?”
The clerk shook his head.
Robertson sighed. “Would have been too easy that way, I guess,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
But the clerk heard him and this time it was his turn to smile.
“I didn’t remember her name, because I didn’t need to. She signed for the room.”
He stepped into the back room for a moment. When he returned, he had a registration form in his hand. He handed it to Robertson.
“Denise Clearwater,” the clerk said, with one of those eager-beaver expressions that always made Robertson want to puke. “That’s her. I’m sure of it.”
Robertson hesitated. “How can you be sure this is hers?”
The clerk’s eyes practically bugged out. “Hot chicks like that don’t come in here very often, man. Trust me, you remember them when they do.”
Robertson laughed aloud before turning to Agent Doherty, who had been standing behind him, observing the whole process without saying a word.
“Get me everything you can on a Denise Clearwater,” he told the younger agent.
Here I come, Hunt. Here I come.
21
HUNT
I awoke to find myself in bed in a darkened room. My head hurt, and I seemed to have some kind of thick bandage on my nose. At least I was breathing, which was something.
I shifted in the bed and the moment I did so a voice spoke out of the darkness on the other side of the room.
“She didn’t make it.”
I turned my head and found Dmitri sitting in a chair near the door, watching me. It said something about my mental state that it took me a few minutes to remember that his berserker abilities would probably make it as easy for him to see in the dark as I could. Then what he said finally sank in and I was all but overwhelmed with rage and frustration.
I hadn’t even known the girl, but her passing brought back memories of another time, another place, and that wasn’t something I wanted to experience.
After a moment, I asked, “What happened to that thing?”
I didn’t know what to call it, but I figured he’d know what I was talking about.
He did.
“Dead.” The flat way he said it spoke volumes and I breathed a quick sigh of relief. At least it wouldn’t be preying on any other children …
“Clearwater?”
I asked once I had control of myself, and then, after a second’s hesitation, “Gallagher?”
Dmitri nodded, as if I’d just confirmed something for him, but he didn’t say anything other than to answer my question. “They’re fine. Both of them.”
Relief swept through me.
He was quiet for a moment, perhaps weighing what it was he intended to say, and then, “Pretty gutsy move, Hunt. Have to say it surprised me, after that shit the other day.”
I wasn’t too proud of my actions the other morning, but I’d be damned if I let him know that.
“Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises,” I said without opening my eyes. The pain in my head was starting to grow worse and I just wanted him to go away. I had a hunch that wasn’t going to happen though, so instead I asked, “How long have I been out?”
“A little over sixteen hours.”
I stared at him, stunned by his reply. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
He shook his head.
I’d been unconscious all night and most of the next day? That wasn’t good.
“Gallagher is waiting to talk to you, if you’re feeling up to it.”
Feeling up to it? Hell no. But rather than tell him the truth I simply said, “All right, give me a minute or two.”
We sat in silence, until he asked, “You don’t like him much, do you?”
Surprised, I actually gave it some thought before answering. Did I like Simon Gallagher? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think I knew him well enough to like him or dislike him. But there was something there, something that just seemed off. Like an actor playing a role he wasn’t all that familiar with …
Rather than answer his question directly, I asked one of my own. “You guys have known each other for a while, huh?”
He was quiet, perhaps thinking about how much to tell me, maybe just drifting through memories of another time and place. I wasn’t certain; Dmitri had always been hard for me to read.
“The Simon I knew was younger,” he said, “less experienced certainly, but with an attitude to match. He seems to have mellowed a bit since I saw him last.”
Dmitri hadn’t talked about his past all that often in the time I’d known him, so I was naturally curious. “When was that?”
“Almost a decade ago.” His voice turned a bit wistful. “It seems like another lifetime, but I spent a lot of years in this city. I was a Warden for most of them.”
Now that was surprising. I couldn’t picture Dmitri as a bastion of law and order in any city, never mind one like New Orleans.
“Why’d you leave?” I asked.
He snorted. “Why does anyone leave? I’d outstayed my welcome and circumstances demanded it.”
And that was all I was going to get on that topic. But he wasn’t done talking about Gallagher yet.
“When I knew him, Simon was training as a combat mage. He had a natural aptitude for it; everyone said he’d be a talent to reckon with if he managed to get his anger under control. It looks like he’s managed to do that.”
“But?” I could sense the word just hanging there, even if he hadn’t said it.
“But Simon was always focused on the end result, rather than the methods and means it took to get there. It’s the kind of thing that can be dangerous for a mage. Perhaps even more dangerous for those around him.”
Dmitri wasn’t worried about what would happen to either of us, that much I could figure out. No, he was warning me for an altogether different reason.
“Is that why she left the city? Because of Gallagher’s tendency to let the end justify the means?”
I knew from our earlier conversation that he didn’t want to go there, but he surprised me again by answering. “That was part of it. The rest is her story to tell, like I said before. But I know that coming here couldn’t have been easy; she hasn’t been back since I helped her get settled in Boston.”
Keep your eyes on Denise, he was saying. And watch your back.
That I could do.
Apparently that was the end of the conversation, for he suddenly stood up and stretched, making me wonder just how long he’d been sitting there waiting for me to wake up.
“If you’re up to it, I think it’s time to go see the Lord Marshal,” he said.
No, I wasn’t up to it, but I had the feeling that Dmitri was going to ignore my answer if I said as much, so rather than going back to sleep the way my body was screaming at me to do, I tossed back the covers and sat up in one smooth motion.
Big mistake.
The room spun around me like a top and I would have fallen if Dmitri hadn’t come to my assistance, catching me before I could fall back onto the bed.
“Easy there,” he said, as my mind tried to process just how fast he’d crossed the room from where he’d been sitting by the doorway.
I shook him off and then stood on my own. “I’m okay,” I told him.
And somehow I was.
For now, at least.
22
HUNT
As it turned out, I’d been recuperating in one of the spare bedrooms on the second floor, just down the hall from Gallagher’s office. Dmitri went ahead to let Gallagher and Denise know I was coming, and by the time I made my slow way along the hall to the office where they were waiting, they’d dimmed the lights and put out a few candles. It wasn’t something I expected from a hard-ass like Gallagher, so I figured Denise had a hand in it. Either way, I was glad that I was able to see their faces.
I had a hunch this wasn’t going to be an easy discussion.
There were three chairs arrayed in front of Gallagher’s desk, with Denise occupying the one farthest from the door. I let her help me into the one in the middle. Dmitri decided to remain standing just inside the door.
“How are you doing?” Denise asked, upon seeing the gingerly way I was moving.
I shrugged. What was I going to say? Can’t really complain about feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck when people around you are dying, right?
“Good to see you up and about, Hunt,” Gallagher said, but there was an edge to his voice that said otherwise. “Dmitri bring you up to speed?”
I wiggled my hand back and forth. Kinda, it said. “Sorry about Rebecca.”
“Me too,” he said, his voice filled with pain and regret. For the first time since meeting him, I knew exactly how he felt. In the dim light I could see that he hadn’t escaped the battle with the creature unscathed. A bandage was wrapped around his lower left arm and a narrow cut bisected his other cheek. The injuries didn’t seem to have slowed him down any, which was more than I could say for myself.
He went on.
“If we’re going to make any sense of what happened, I’m going to need you to explain a few things. Starting with what, exactly, you did to me.”
I glanced at Denise, who nodded encouragingly. She was one of only three people who knew my secret, so the fact that she approved of letting the cat out of the bag, so to speak, made me feel a bit safer in discussing things.
With her support, I explained to Gallagher about the ritual I’d undergone that had given me not only my ghostsight, but also the ability to borrow the eyes of both the living and the dead for short periods of time. Gallagher made small noises of understanding from time to time, which made me think that Denise must have gone over some of this with him while I’d slept. He’d been immersed in the real world for far longer than I had, so I guess none of it was all that surprising.
With the background clear, I moved on to the events of the night before. “When I realized none of you could see that thing in the room with us, I knew I had to do something. I figured if I could borrow someone else’s sight, then maybe I could loan my own in return.”
In retrospect it hadn’t been the smartest move. If Gallagher had seen my actions as a threat, he could have blasted me into oblivion with the flick of a hand. Thankfully, he’d recognized the real threat and had responded appropriately.
“Once I had control, it wasn’t all that hard to pass
what I was seeing over to you.”
I gave them a moment and then asked, “So what was that thing anyway?”
There was a long pause, then Denise replied, “We don’t know.”
Huh.
“You don’t know, meaning you’re not sure or you don’t have a clue?”
I was praying it was the former.
She sighed and said, “We don’t have a clue.”
Not good.
Not good at all.
“So now what?” I asked.
“If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like you to use your sight and take a look at the body, see if you can tell us anything further about it,” Gallagher replied.
Having a close encounter of the dead kind with that thing was not something I was really interested in doing, but I couldn’t see a way out of it, and so before I knew it we were all trooping downstairs, heading for the clinic next door where they had apparently stored the creature’s body for safekeeping.
Despite my long rest, I was still a bit weak, so I used the fact that I couldn’t see anything with all the lights on as cover for my need to lean on Denise as we made our way next door.
As we crossed the clinic floor, I kept my ghostsight in check and did my best to avoid looking at any of the patients. I didn’t want to see the fluttering remains of their souls or think about what it must have felt like to have them ripped out while they were still alive. Two nights ago it had been a bit abstract, but now, having seen the process in action, there wasn’t any way to distance myself from it. These people had died horrible deaths at the hands of a creature most of them probably couldn’t have ever imagined. The sheer terror they’d probably felt during it all set my pulse to beating in my ears.
I was glad this thing was dead, for all of a sudden I wanted to kill it all over again.
We crossed the length of the clinic and passed through a set of double doors. The smell of cooking lingered in the air, and I knew we were in the kitchen. I assumed we were just passing through, maybe on our way outside to another location, but after a few more steps we stopped.
King of the Dead (Jeremiah Hunt Chronicle) Page 12
