“Yeah, but what do you wager the king’s got at least one on the payrol ? We
Gibson grunted and turned the car onto Gene Autry Parkway. We were nearly there. From where we
sat I could see fans in Angels red and Cubs blue hiking toward the stadium across the packed parking
lot as outdoor vendors hawked their wares. Four fifteen in the afternoon and already there were plenty
of people who acted as if they were trashed. I shook my head. Cal me a prude, but I can’t imagine
paying a smal fortune for a ticket to a game like this and then getting so wasted I wouldn’t remember
the game.
Traffic was moving at a crawl. Just ahead, a man in a neon orange vest signaled with a flashlight that
there were openings in that row. Gibson fol owed the line leading toward him.
“Did you get hold of your boyfriend and the werewolf?”
“I tried. Neither one of them answered his phone. I think Bruno’s pissed at me for standing him up. Of
course he may have just not recognized the number. But I doubt it. He knows I had to get a new phone
the other day and I imagine he got the number from Dawna.”
Gibson had to stop to let the driver ahead of us pul into a parking space, so he had the chance to
give me a shocked look. “You stood him up?”
“It’s not like I had a choice. As you’l recal , I was unconscious at the time. But he doesn’t know that,
and he’s pissed and won’t answer his phone because I was supposed to return his Mets cap and I
didn’t.”
“He should know you better than that.”
“Yeah, he should. And he’l realize that about the fifth or sixth inning and start worrying. He’l cal me
back during the seventh-inning stretch.”
Gibson laughed as he pul ed the car into one of the last few vacant spots. “You know him pretty wel .”
“We were together through most of col ege.” I didn’t quite manage to keep the wistfulness from my
voice.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s things like today that made me so crazy. If he’d just
nope. He’s too hardheaded.”
“And I bet it’s things like today that made him crazy, too. Knowing that you’re going off into danger and
there’s nothing he can do about it.”
I managed not to flinch, but ouch. That was a little too close to the mark. I climbed out of the car so
that I wouldn’t have to answer. Not that Gibson didn’t notice. Stil , he didn’t press. I was glad. I didn’t
want to think about Bruno. I didn’t need the distraction.
We moved across the parking lot with the rest of the herd, making our way past the huge “A” with its
lit display. Peppered throughout the crowd were plenty of uniformed security and warrior priests of the
various militant religious orders in ful regalia and armament. Even from this distance the noise of the
crowd beat against my sensitive hearing. Competing scents vied for my attention. Unwashed bodies,
cologne, buttered popcorn, hot dogs, and beer were the most prevalent, but by no means the only,
smel s floating in the air.
The announcer was doing the usual pregame nonsense that most of the spectators were happy to
ignore. The first pitch was set for 8:00 EDT. It wouldn’t be too much longer before they announced the
starting lineups and played the national anthem.
Ivan was waiting right where he was supposed to be. He stood there, unmovable as a mountain,
dressed in jeans and a polo shirt under a Cubs jacket. The clothes were supposed to help him blend in
with the crowd but didn’t. For one thing, they were pressed. His jeans had a
was his posture. The regular fans were excited but relaxed. He wasn’t. He held himself in absolute
readiness, his eyes constantly moving, taking in everything. I wondered if I looked like that when I was
on duty, and figured yeah, I probably did.
I paused, letting Gibson take the lead. I took off my sunglasses, turned slightly, and, pretending to
clean them, took a good look at old Ivan in the mirrored surface. He passed test one. He wasn’t an
il usion.
Sliding the glasses back on, I reached my right hand into my pocket, pressing it against the little
sponge until I felt wetness on my palm. Test two was something Matty had suggested when I cal ed the
hospital. Spawn and demons can change form until they look just like the real thing. But that uses
demonic magic—which can be shorted out by the judicious use of holy items. If Ivan was a spawn this
little dab of water wouldn’t make him change back, but it would sting like hel (literal y) and give me a
glimpse of his true form.
I walked up to Ivan, my arm extended in the classic “shake hands” gesture. I could tel he hated it. But
there were witnesses, and refusing would be obvious. So he grimly shook my extended hand as quickly
as he could manage, discreetly drying his damp palm on the leg of his jeans when he thought I wasn’t
looking. “Fol ow me.”
He led us to the gates and into a line that was rapidly thinning as game time approached. One at a
time we passed through curse and then metal detectors, pausing briefly as the security agent admired
my little gadget. Then we were off, moving briskly through dim, wide hal s lined with vendors and shops.
Ivan was setting a quick pace, but we didn’t seem out of place. The announcer was reading off the
lineups. Almost everybody was hurrying, hoping not to miss the first pitch.
I stopped when I saw something … odd. In the corner of my vision I saw a pair of spectators heading
toward the elevators. The woman looked vaguely familiar, like I’d seen her before, and recently. The
drunken companion she was helping walk looked, to my eyes, like a petite blond woman. But the
reflection in my glasses was of a dark-haired young man, looking il and only semiconscious.
I did a double take and the woman noticed. She glared at me as she stabbed her finger against the
elevator button, and I recognized her from the expression. It was the guard … Lydia. The woman from
Birchwoods on Vicki’s birthday. And that …
brother. I shouted a warning to Ivan and took off at a dead run.
The elevator dinged and Lydia shoved Kristoff in ahead of her, moving before the doors were even
completely open. I was close enough to see her jabbing at the button panel when the doors slid closed
in my face.
Ivan and Gibson slid to a stop next to me as I watched the lights on the elevator winking to a stop at
every floor.
“She’s got Kristoff. The guy with your people is a fake.”
“We don’t know that.
be annoyed but fine.”
