defend myself against whatever this is, I have to know first and foremost why it’s here and what it wants.”
Dammit. When the girl’s right, she’s right.
“Okay, but we’re all running on fumes right now. Let us get some rest and we’ll go this afternoon. Fair?”
I think she still would have balked if Dante hadn’t backed me up. “He’s right, Boo. You look like death warmed over. A few hours of peaceful sleep in a safe place…you’ll thank me later.”
Finally, Gretchen relented, allowing Dante to slip her purse off her shoulder. “Okay. But I’m setting an alarm. Four hours, then we go.”
That, I could live with. Hell, I’d lived on a lot less for a lot longer.
Dante left, mumbling something about appointments or something, and everyone else fell into a coma. I didn’t even mind that I was once again plastered to the leather sofa.
My dreams, though…I hadn’t had too many bad ones since I banished the Yeti last fall. And this one wasn’t bad, per se. Just…odd.
It was night, that much was certain, and as I took long strides out of a tunnel, the stars seemed unusually bright. Almost like they were fake, or like there were too many of them in the night sky for reality.
Semi-conscious-me noted the oddity, but dream-me didn’t seem to care. I stepped out of the tunnel, feeling concrete give way to hard-packed dirt beneath my boots. The air still smelled of the heat of the day, of sweat and breath of people only recently absent. Dream-me was glad they were gone.
I stepped from the tunnel (again, like I was on a perpetual loop) into an enormous open space. The dirt field spread out before me, silent and waiting. I was waiting too, I realized. Waiting for someone, or something. Deep down, I knew that whatever it was, it wasn’t coming.
I stepped from the tunnel, and I could feel palpable fear beating at my back. Weariness, pain, anger…whatever was behind me had given all it could, and there was simply nothing left to wring out of it. It was finished.
I stepped from the tunnel, and across the great open area, someone stood. Even with the unnatural starlight, it was too far away to see who it was. It was tall and slender, a black shadow against the blacker night (and I had to wonder, how could such a brightly lit night be black?). The next time I came out of the tunnel, the hard-packed dirt was empty again.
I think I must have stepped from the mysterious tunnel a hundred times. A thousand, maybe. Over and over again in that endlessly looping dream, out onto an open field of dirt, beaten solid under thousands of tramping feet. I never figured out what I was waiting for, or if the distant shadowy figure was it. I never figured out what was waiting in the tunnel behind me, or if it was enemy or friend.
I do know that when Tai’s hand grabbed my shoulder, jolting me awake, I came up swinging. My fist slapped into his hand with a resounding smack, and we both just blinked at each other for long moments.
“Bad dream?”
I played it over in my head again, then just shrugged. “I honestly have no idea.” My dreams had come true before. Well, just one dream, but it was enough to set a precedent. What the hell did this one mean? I had the last one for four years before it finally happened. I had to wonder if and when this one would pop out of my brain and into reality. Somehow, this one scared me more than the Yeti dream ever had, and I didn’t even know why.
17
I didn’t even know L.A.
I had a hard time picturing Ivan walking down this street, all severe in his black trench coat, a black mark on the carefully choreographed gaiety. Of course, I was rapidly coming to realize that I knew very little about the man himself. It was impossible to say what had drawn him down here to find this person he’d now sent us to locate.
“Here. I think we turn here.” Gretchen led the way as we left the clamoring street behind. Tai and I spread out some, flanking her protectively as the voices behind us dwindled to nothing within a few yards. Now this, this was somewhere I could picture Ivan frequenting.
I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a street or an alley. It was narrow, and clogged with Dumpsters and discarded paraphernalia from the surrounding businesses. No one would ever be able to get a vehicle down it. A thin trickle of water (we’ll hope it was water) ran from a gutter, down the middle of the uneven paving stones, and vanished into a sewer grate with a sad little tinkle of sound.
No one was here, I realized. No employees sneaking out back for a cigarette break, no homeless people scrounging in the trash. No lost tourists, except for us. Goose bumps whispered along my shoulders, and I rubbed my thumb over the disk hanging from my belt loop. Around the edges, it was faintly purple.
The doors along the walls were mostly padlocked shut, blank and anonymous, until we reached one that was not. A sign hung on the wall, written in Asian characters I didn’t recognize. It was a rather utilitarian sign, generic in its plainness. No hint of “welcome” about it, but no sense of “fuck off” either.
The metal door itself was ajar a few inches, allowing the thick aroma of incense to escape into the dank alley. There was a light on inside, dim and flickering. Candles, maybe?
“Do we knock?” Gretchen looked at me questioningly.
“Oh, hell yes.” I didn’t know what kind of person might specialize in reading demonic script, but I was willing to wager that barging in on such a person unannounced would be hazardous to everyone’s health.
Reaching past her, I rapped my knuckles on the metal sharply, and was rewarded with the faint tingle of a ward flaring. I had to smirk a little. The heady incense almost drowned out the distinctive scent of cloves, and I had
