“It’s not just him I’m worried about,” Ronnie said. “It’s Evan.”
“Evan?” Pope’s stomach tightened. “Why? What happened?”
“We’re at my parents’ house. He was upstairs sleeping. I was going to let him sleep through the morning, but when I went to check on him, the bed was empty and the window was open.”
“What?”
“He’s gone, Danny. He’s been gone for hours. Either he ran away or somebody took him.”
“Took him? What makes you think that?”
“Jimmy Chavez questioned the neighbors. One of them said they saw a car parked out on the street early this morning. One they’ve never seen before.”
“What kind of car?”
“An old Ford pickup,” Ronnie said.
Pope didn’t know if Ronnie kept talking after that.
He had already dropped the phone.
Anna approached the steps, her gaze on that flickering candlelight, knowing it was a trap, that he was down there somewhere, waiting for her.
But what were her choices?
She could turn and flee, which wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t stop him from coming after her again. Or she could push ahead and hope for the best, even though her training warned her against it.
She looked into the mirrors, saw her reflection, could see the fear in her own eyes.
Do-or-die time, McBride.
Make up your mind.
But a sound made it up for her. Faint but unmistakable: a crying child.
And not just any child.
She’d recognize the sound of those tears anywhere.
Evan.
He had Evan down there.
Oh, sweet god…
Quickly stepping past the sign, Anna turned and moved sideways down the steps, keeping her Glock at the ready, the sound of Evan’s tears growing louder with each step.
The room below was awash in candlelight, dozens of them lining a long shelf and a small, squat table. There were more gypsy wheels spray-painted on the wall, the floor littered with stacks of newspaper and phone books and street maps, some new, some decades old.
And there, seated on an old army cot, a swatch of bloody bandages on his left shoulder, was Mikola. He held a blood-caked knife in his hand, precariously close to a crying Evan Fairweather, who sat at his feet on the cement floor.
Evan started to rise at the sight of Anna, but Mikola grabbed his collar, pulling him back.
“Do not move, boy.”
The sobs grew louder.
Mikola looked at Anna. “He cries too much, this one. A small poke and he cries like an infant. Let him spend just one day in my skin and then he will find something to cry about.” His gaze snapped to Evan. “Shut up, boy, or I cut your throat.”
Evan turned sharply, looking at him, and abruptly stopped crying.
Anna kept her Glock up, pointing it at Mikola. “Let him go.”
“Of course,” Mikola said, calmer now. “Once you have given me what I seek.” He paused. “The boy is important to you, yes?”
“Let him go, goddamn it.”
Mikola shook his head. “Such language, Chavi. I see you have been corrupted by the gadje.”
“I swear to God, I’ll shoot you where you sit.”
Mikola swiped the knife through the air. “And if you do, the boy will die. Is that what you want?”
Anna said nothing.
“You have only you and your friends to blame for this. It would not be necessary if the one on the stairs had not put this bullet in me. But no matter. I will get what I seek, yes?”
Again, Anna said nothing, her mind in turmoil, trying to figure a way out of this without getting Evan hurt.
“My terms are simple,” Mikola said. “You for the boy.”
Anna wanted so badly to pull the trigger. A bullet straight to the neck would sever his spine, destroy his motor senses, and render him unable to use the knife. But what if she missed?
Evan would die.
“Do not disappoint me, Chavi. I’ve traveled far for this.”
“Through the mirrors,” Anna said.
“Yes, through the mirrors. A simple skill that so many have chosen to ignore. Even you.”
“Me?”
“You are the greatest chovihani the Zala family has ever seen, yet your fear of the black arts is amusing. What is the harm in simply looking into the mirrors and asking that they take you where you wish to go? Look what it has done for me.”
“Allowed you to kill a bunch of innocent people. Let’s all celebrate.”
“You are mistaken if you think I enjoy the killing. But to get what I seek, I will not hesitate to use this blade.”
“But for what?” Anna said. “All those people dead for a piece of my soul?”
“Not just a piece this time. This time, I become whole. I become you. The thing I worshiped for so many years. Look at me now. Look how much stronger, how much more beautiful I’ve become. You are the last spoke on the wheel, Chavi. The tattoo will be complete.”
“But to get it from me, to get this last piece of my soul, you have to kill me, right?”
“Yes.”
“And it has to be you. No one else.”
“Yes,” he said. “So put the gun down, and I will release the boy.”
For a long moment, Anna didn’t move.
Then she raised the gun higher. Put it to her temple.
Mikola’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing?”
“My terms are simple,” Anna said. “Let the boy go, or I shoot myself.”
He scowled at her. “You are a madwoman!”
“What’s mine is mine, brother. It isn’t much, but it’ll be lost to you forever if you don’t let him go.” She looked at Evan. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt you. Go upstairs.”
But Evan didn’t budge. Just stared at her, his body shaking.
“Go, Evan. Now!”
The boy finally got to his feet, Mikola making no move to stop him. But as Evan started toward the stairs, Anna made the mistake of following him with her gaze, and before she caught herself — Mikola sprang from the cot, diving into her, slamming her to the floor.
The impact knocked the wind out of her and the Glock went flying, Mikola straddling her as he brought the knife up, ready to plunge it into her chest — but as his hand came down, Anna twisted beneath him and the knife sank into her shoulder instead.
Hot white pain shot through her, more pain than she could ever remember feeling, as — Mikola pulled the knife free, bringing it up again, and — Anna dug frantically into her back pocket, trying to grab hold of the backup weapon she’d bought.
Then she had it and brought her hand up, jabbing the business end of a stun gun into Mikola’s side, sending a hundred thousand volts of electricity through him.
He howled, rolling away from her, and she hit him again, then again “Run, Evan! Run!”
— and Evan didn’t need any more encouragement. He tore up the steps as Anna searched frantically for the
