Though Dave’s crew had already heard the story, they still looked sick. As new partakers of this information, Bergman, Cassandra, and I kept looking at each other, not knowing how to react. We had no common ground from which to pull a story that started, “Oh yeah, I had a crazy uncle once who . . . ” Nope. The worst thing my uncle Barney ever did was get so drunk at my cousin Amelia’s wedding he thought he could limbo with the young guys. He threw his back out and missed work for a week.
I tried to comprehend the mind-set that would make the leap from divorce to a death sentence. No dice. My mind, already overloaded, attempted to step out. I felt as if I was watching our impromptu meeting from somewhere near the ceiling. “And the crowd?” I heard myself ask. “What were they yelling?”
“I guess the mother became a dissident after that,” Cole said softly. “They were shouting things like ‘Women Deserve Life,’ and ‘Laws for Women,’ which drove the entertainment seekers crazy. I guess they tore up the bodies pretty badly.”
“Why . . . ” The word didn’t come out right, sounded more like a wail. I coughed. Tried again. “What crime were they convicted of?”
Cole shoved his fingers through his mass of hair. Right now I thought its wild tangles perfectly reflected all our feelings. He said, “The old man told me that she and the younger woman had been executed for fomenting rebellion against the government.”
So. The ladies hadn’t murdered their kids after all.
My mind took me back to that moment at the plaza and drew me a parallel. Big stage. Expectant crowd. A show that made you feel you’d stepped into hell on earth. And in actual hell, the Magistrate putting on his own show. Acting out his own murder scene. Staging my spectacular rescue.
On earth the mahghul had descended like a flock of evil mutant pigeons and fed on the hate, fury, and fear of every single person in that crowd.
The Magistrate was no different. No better than a parasite, he wanted to feed on something that he could only get to while I was in ephemeral mode and rocketing toward Raoul. But what? I had a feeling there was only one way to find out.
But now was not the time. Cole had continued his story, explaining how he’d sweet-talked the old man into faking a heart attack. The resulting diversion allowed them to slip away.
Dave slapped his hands on his thighs. Guy-speak for, “So let’s get on with the stuff we came to do, shall we?” “Cam, have you still got the DVD?”
He nodded. “It’s in my pack.”
“Okay, then, let’s head upstairs and tape off a mock-up of the hotel. If we work quickly enough we can get a couple of run-throughs done before daylight.” He looked at me, playing his part to the hilt. “You guys are gonna have time to do this tonight, right?”
“Sure,” I said enthusiastically. As if I had any idea where Vayl might be at the moment. Or if he’d even be in the mood to pretend we were still working with the Spec Ops folks after the blowup between us.
They turned to go.
“Wait,” I said. They all looked at me. Great. The last thing I wanted was an audience. “Dave, can we talk a second? About family stuff?”
“O-kay.” His tone told me I’d better have a damn good reason for delaying him when he had important work ahead. I led him into the kitchen. Once we were facing each other across the island I dove in.
“Dad’s had an accident. Shelby said a woman hit him while he was riding his cycle and he’s pretty torn up. He’s in intensive care.”
I stood there a full thirty seconds. Waiting for something. Anything. But he didn’t react at all. Except to scratch his neck until I wondered if he was going to make it bleed. Finally he said, “Okay. Let me know if you hear anything else.” And he walked out.
“Wow, that went so well,” I murmured. “I wish I had more bad news for him. Maybe I should call home. See if his storage unit’s burned up. Or if somebody’s stolen his identity.” I squashed the urge to chase after him, shake him until his teeth cracked together, and yell, “What the hell is wrong with you!” He was a grown man with his own well-developed ways of coping. And as the Queen of Denial, it was hardly my place to tell him they weren’t going to help him sleep any better at night.
I entered the living room in time to see Dave clap Cole on the shoulder. “Good work tonight,” he said. “You want to join us?” He jerked his head toward the door at the end of the hallway, which stood open and led to the upstairs apartment.
“Sorry, Dave, I already have plans for him,” I said.
Cole polished his nails on his shirt. “Obviously I’m going to have to start charging more for my services.”
Both men laughed and Dave gave him another slap on the back, which made Cole cough. I waited until I could hear Dave’s footsteps on the floor above us before I said, “Cole, I need you to come with me.” I headed for the front door.
“Where are we going?” he asked as he trailed after me.
I looked over my shoulder, letting him see the steel in my eyes. “Hunting.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cole and I perched on the roof of Anvari’s, peering over its edge at the dimly lit street below. The thin sliver of moon helped not at all as we searched for the tall, gaunt form of Asha Vasta. Or, better yet, the purposeful stride set off by the tiger-carved cane that was unmistakably Vayl. As I explained to Cole, Asha was my quarry, Vayl his.
“You want me to follow the boss?” he’d asked, as if I’d just told him to bait a grizzly with a rib eye while doing an Irish jig through the clover.
“He can feel me,” I explained. “And I’ve got to keep tabs on him. The second he makes contact with Zarsa again I need to know.” He shook his head. “Oh, come on, Cole. You know if he turns her it’s going to be a disaster for everybody involved, especially her kids.”
