“Isis, that place is going to be guarded pretty tightly. Bartholomew is right. It could be another trap.” Constantine was probably right.
“I know, but we don’t have a lot of options. The old hotel is condemned. Worst-case scenario, I check it out and find nothing. Can’t hurt to look.”
Bartholomew and Constantine were not buying it.
“OK, but this time you go prepared. No more of this wandering around half-blind.” General Constantine was back in charge.
“I can handle that.” The more protection I could take, the better I would feel.
“We have the armory pretty well stocked. We just got in a pair of very stylish night-vision glasses, heat sensors, and, of course, gas bombs.” Bartholomew had been busy shopping.
“Do I want to know where you get all this stuff?” By the look on Bartholomew’s face, I really didn’t. “Never mind.”
“We’ll load you up.” Constantine was way too excited for my taste.
“I’m glad you both enjoyed the lunch. I have work to do before I head out tonight.”
“Thank you, Isis. It was delicious. You’re very thoughtful.”
“My pleasure, Constantine. I don’t want you two starving to death. Or eating any more of that cardboard-tasting cereal.” That stuff was awful.
“Thanks, Isis. I do appreciate that.” Bartholomew smiled. He had cleared his plate and was almost done with Constantine’s.
“Anytime, Bart. Constantine, I do have a question.”
“Sure thing. What’s on your mind?”
“If I can see and touch dead people, how am I supposed to tell the difference between the dead and the living? Father George looked pretty real to me.”
“Easy. Their body temperature.” Constantine said that with a smile.
“Excuse me. Do you want me to touch every person I see?”
“It’s either touching or using your sight. I wouldn’t recommend the sight.” Constantine was right. The sight would be awful. “Not that hard, Isis. Just shake hands when you first meet them. The souls don’t generate body heat, so they’ll feel cold to the touch. Besides, it’ll make their day. Most haven’t touched another human being in ages.” That explained Father George’s reactions that morning.
“OK, I guess.” Shaking hands didn’t sound too bad.
“What are you working on?” I was heading toward the door when Bartholomew asked.
“My lullaby. So cover your ears.” The last thing I needed was to knock my own people out.
“No need. I’m heading into a food coma, and by the looks of Bartholomew, he is, too.” Constantine was yawning. I was jealous. I wanted a nap myself.
“That’s a good idea. I want a nap.” Bartholomew was not fighting sleep too hard. “If you need us, we’ll be over there, passed out.” With that, they headed to the couch to sleep. Life was not fair.
It was midafternoon. I had a few hours to work on my song and get ready for my recon mission. I was tired of not being prepared. If we could at least get the prisoners back, maybe that would slow them down. I was afraid. If we didn’t stop them, they would just move to another city and start all over.
Chapter 30
My plan was simple: go to the Grim and wait for Angelito. I would follow him in and recon the area. Be back home before anyone noticed, then go back with backup. Why couldn’t my plans ever go smoothly? Instead, I got a rambling call from Abuelita around eight that evening. Angelito never showed up, and he wasn’t answering her calls. She was going to look for him. I had the horrible feeling that was exactly what the witches wanted. After ten minutes of pleading and begging, I persuaded her to stay put. I needed Abuelita safe.
Instead of her walking into the arms of danger, I volunteered to do it. I had lost my ever-loving mind. What was wrong with me? In less than a week, my normal little life was turned upside down. I barely had enough to time to finish my recording. I never got around to making the loop, forget copying it to any device. Bartholomew felt sorry for me and agreed to finish it.
The boys were not kidding when they said they were prepping me for battle. They ordered custom-made military fatigues. These were all black and coated against spells. Constantine had contacted a witch in Salem who specialized in the extreme. To neutralize the regular thugs’ combatants, I got issued a light Kevlar vest. According to Bartholomew, it could sustain any number of rounds. I believed the vest could, but I was afraid my ribs would be shattered just from the impact.
If the clothes were impressive, the accessories were to die for, no pun intended. The night-vision goggles looked more like a pair of Ray-Ban aviator glasses. The black leather boots had trigger-activated spikes, and my belt doubled as a whip. They strapped a machete to my left leg, a 9mm to my right, and my M16 across my chest. I was a cross between Trinity from The Matrix, Rambo, and Batman. I had more firepower than most army squads in the middle of Baghdad. Constantine took revenge very seriously. My earpiece was in place, and by the time I left, I wasn’t sure whether I was going on a recon or an execution mission.
I drove downtown very carefully. The last thing I needed was to get pulled over. I refused to strap the grenades to my belt, so they were sitting on the passenger seat. Bartholomew decided to put them in a basket. I was not playing Little Red Riding Hood today. If the witches had spies looking for me, Bumblebee was going to be a problem. It was also Friday night, and some areas of downtown actually had business going.
The Grim Hotel was located on State Line, down the street from the post office and right before you got to the correctional facility. Why didn’t these witches just take over the police department? They were fearless. I needed to find a place to park without driving by the hotel. The hotel sat at the end of its block, but it
