“Working on it. It could be a trap, but sometimes a trap works both ways.”
Browning could only nod. When it came to issues of potential violence, he had to bow to Sullivan’s mastery of the subject. “I trust your judgment, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Thanks. And I almost forgot, we kidnapped J. Edgar Hoover yesterday. I think we’re secretly allied with the Bureau of Investigation against the OCI.”
If it had been anyone other than Sullivan, he would have been certain it was a joke, but the Heavy wasn’t known for telling tales. “You jest.”
“No, sir. I’m not pulling your leg. Like I said, we’ve been real busy.”
“Recruiting Iron Guards and Hoover… Perhaps I should retract what I said about trusting your judgment.”
“Hoover I don’t know about. The others seem legit, but I’m keeping an eye on them and Faye both. I don’t want her killing anybody.”
“Yes, that can be a full-time job… How did Faye-”
“I guess she got bored of driving and Traveled clear from Tennessee in one hop. The others are on the way.”
Nothing about that girl could really surprise him at this point. “Did you see this morning’s paper yet?” Sullivan shook his head. “It has more bad news. They’ve gone public about Francis and they say that he has fled. I’m trying to contact him now but have not gotten a response. Have you had any word from him?”
“Not since word came down about Ada. I’ll see what I can find out. I sure hope they didn’t roll him up. Any luck down there?”
“Possibly.” Browning was hesitant to say how they’d gotten their information and had to choose his words carefully. Since Sullivan’s young lady friend had suffered such a tragic end through Lazarus magic, the Heavy’s feelings about such things were well known. “I believe the spell was bound to the assassin by a Summoned.”
“That’s impossible. A Summoned couldn’t-no!” Sullivan’s brow furrowed. “ Crow.” As usual, the Heavy was remarkably perceptive. “That son of a bitch, excuse my language. It had to be him, unless there’s somebody out there just like him, and that’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“I am inclined to agree. We are now searching for a Dr. Bradford that may have been Zangara’s confidant. If we can come up with a link between the doctor and the OCI, we may have the evidence we need to clear our names.”
“Speaking of evidence, I might know where to find some…”
Bell Farm, Virginia
Despite being so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open, Faye continued watching the Iron Guard suspiciously. He just sat there, cross-legged, eyes closed, “mediating” he called it, looking innocent as could be… But she knew that he was up to no good. Iron Guards were evil, heathen, no-good, rotten, murdering scoundrels, and the only reason she hadn’t killed this one already was because Mr. Sullivan had made her promise not to.
After having a long conversation with Mr. Sullivan, the Iron Guard had claimed the barn as his place to sleep. She figured it was so he could have someplace private to do whatever horrible things it was that Iron Guards did when nobody was looking. So Faye had volunteered to spy on the Iron Guard. It wasn’t like she was going to be able to sleep with one of them around anyway. Sullivan had told her that spying was unnecessary and that she should get some rest.
She’d agreed, but as soon as the bedroom door was closed, she’d gathered up some warm clothing and Traveled outside to keep an eye on the Iron Guard. Of course Faye wasn’t going to go sleep in a comfy bed, all unaware and vulnerable, while evil was lurking around doing who knew what. Not on her watch. So she had followed him, sneaky as possible, just knowing he’d do something awful right quick. However, the Iron Guard had just gone out to the barn, pulled a blanket out of his pack, and gone to sleep on the hard-packed dirt floor. She’d Traveled up to the hay loft and picked a quiet spot to keep watch.
The most interesting part of the night was discovering that the barn had rats, big black ones, and she’d passed the time by identifying and naming them all. The Iron Guard didn’t so much as roll over or even snore. Spying on him turned out to be completely uninteresting. Killing him in his sleep would have been super easy, if a little unsportsmanlike. It was still really tempting.
The long night in the drafty old barn gave Faye plenty of time to think. Despite all of the horrible things that were happening around her, her mind kept spinning back to a completely selfish issue. Why was her magic getting stronger again? Months had passed since the Tokugawa and she’d been relatively weak that whole time, with Power like a little stream, but all of a sudden she was doing better, and her Power had grown back into a small river. How come? She didn’t pretend to understand this stuff like some of the other knights. Faye had always been a little different than everyone else, and she had just taken it for granted, but now those differences were really nagging at her.
The government demon, Crow, had known something. He’d danced around it, trying to get her to come peacefully. It could have been a trick, but she didn’t think so. He knew something about her. How had he said it? “What if I could tell you exactly what you are?” He hadn’t said “who,” he’d said “what,” and Faye didn’t care for that one bit.
Would she keep on getting stronger like before? And if so, what would happen if she didn’t use it all up in one great big burst like last time? Would it ever stop, or would the Power just keep on giving her more magic? How strong could she get? And if she got strong enough, could she maybe learn how to use other Powers? Could she become as powerful as the Chairman had been?
All those questions without answers made her head hurt.
The night was really cold, but she’d borrowed some of Jane’s clothes and dressed extra warm, or so she’d thought. The predawn frost made life miserable, and she found herself wishing that he would hurry up and do something nefarious so she could kill him and then go warm herself by the wood stove. The only hay left in the loft was old, and since the roof leaked, it was moldy and smelly, so she couldn’t even lay in that for extra warmth. Her grey eyes had always been extra good at seeing in the dark, so after she got done counting rats she counted the holes in the roof.
A few times she let her eyelids droop shut. Just for a second, she’d tell herself, only to realize what she was doing, panic, and then flinch back awake, expecting to see the Iron Guard leering over her, ready to slash her throat. However, each time she found the Iron Guard still sleeping peacefully below. Finally, after several hours of doing the blink-too-long-and-panic routine, she decided to check her head map to see if maybe playing with it for a time would help keep her awake.
And there was Mr. Sullivan, hidden fifty yards away, wide awake and smoking a cigarette, back against a tree, machine gun resting across his knees, watching the barn intently. He had probably been there all night, unmoving. He had just been trying to be nice when he’d told her to get some sleep. She should have known that of all people he wouldn’t have trusted the Iron Guard either. Faye probably could have Traveled back to the house and gone to bed at that point, but it had now become a matter of pride to see her watch through to the end.
The next thing she knew she had woken up and it was daylight and somewhere nearby a rooster was crowing. Panicking, she scurried over to the edge of the hayloft, sure to discover that while she’d slept the Iron Guard had murdered everyone.
Instead of being on a rampage, he was just sitting there on the floor, legs crossed, hands on his knees, back perfectly straight. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes. “Did you sleep well up there, Traveler?”
He knew? “I’m watching you, Iron Guard.”
“Do not call me that.” He opened his eyes. “I no longer have the honor of bearing that title.”
“What are you then?”
“I do not know. That is why I’m meditating.” And with that he closed his eyes again and ignored her.
Faye waited for him to do something else. She got bored. “Hey.. Hey, jerk-face, I’m talking to you.” When he didn’t answer, she found a small scrap of wood and chucked it at him.
He caught it in one hand without opening his eyes. “Do not call me ‘jerk-face.’”
“Why not? It fits…” He was a Brute. Faye decided that if she was going to pick a fight with him, she really should have struck when he was asleep. “What should I call you then?”
“My name is Toru.”
“A likely story.”
