Illusions, like the ones that hid the channel and tunnel to the Pratts' sea cave. One of the tricks the Dragon gave to Morgans was this ability to see through illusion to the truth beneath. He felt the silver and stone warming against the skin of his chest.
Would Gary really throw away his Dragon, if he was forced to choose? Sounded like he'd convinced Ben, at least. Sincerity or good acting, who could tell with Morgan blood? That girl sounded like she'd be worth the cost — brains, passion, guts, and the snap reactions that made all three more valuable. Proven survivor genes, as Alice put it. One tough cookie — some demon memories to fight, but she'd come to the right place to find help. The first step is the hardest.
Welcome to the family. Gary wants you in on this, says trusting you with our secrets is vital to your feeling safe with us. Alice agrees. Gary wins, 'cause Ol' Ben is feeling penitent. Rare mood, enjoy it while you can.
The crows startled and took flight, their caws reaching him a couple of seconds later. Daniel drew on the power of his Dragon.
Ahhh . . .
The cottage door opened, framing two figures. One tall, heavy, blonde, female, ugly scar on her head. Jackie Lewis as drawn by Charles Addams, or whatever Alice thought the girl had become. Mixed up with that Peruvian brujo, Tupash, some way Daniel didn't like to know was possible. Transfer of souls, eating the lives and bodies of ten or twenty missing Pratts and Peruvian thugs. Just thinking about it made him sick.
The second figure was a skinny adolescent male in black jeans and tee shirt, dressed light for heavy labor — he must be cold in the October nip this afternoon. Daniel recognized him through the scope, the Burns kid, Kate Rowley's hired help. Boy walked like a zombie, the girl holding one elbow and using it as a tiller.
One thing he didn't see — that metal carry case, that foam-padded job Ben used to pack the Maya flint. It was there, Alice's bats had said so, and the brujo wasn't taking it. Shit. We're going to have to do it. Go in there. Otherwise, she ain't gonna be happy. Fact of life in Stonefort, if Alice Haskell ain't happy, ain't nobody gonna be happy.
If Daniel squinted in the right place, he could see a white shape looming in the driveway, big-assed SUV, looked like a Ford Explorer or some such. Dark-tinted windows so you couldn't see inside, the sort of car the death squads and secret police used in South America, Central America, grabbing victims off the street. Old habits die hard.
He'd checked that car out last night, no aluminum case, no flint. He'd been watching it all morning. That damned jaguar god was staying inside.
They climbed into the car, both by the driver's side, boy having to scramble over the transmission hump and all, as if the brujo didn't want to lose physical control even for long enough to go around from one side to the other. Must be losing his touch — he'd been able to control Daniel just by being close. Daniel shuddered with the memory. The car started with a puff of fog from the exhaust, backed out, and turned north on the Neck road. Headed inland.
The shimmer vanished from around it. Yeah, you don't want to be invisible, out on the road. Someone else might try to use the same patch of asphalt.
Dan rummaged in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a tiny hand-held radio. Keyed the transmit switch, "Elvis has left the building." Released the switch. Short-long-short clicks back, message received.
Time to rumble. He couldn't handle the brujo. He'd proved that, back in June. Daniel was quite happy to leave that fight to Alice — she tied the brujo to those corpses with no hearts and no blood left in their veins, necromancy of some sort. Last spring she'd burned the Pratts' house down, the old-fashioned "shot across the bow," but the be-damned idiots hadn't tacked up into the wind and slacked their sheets. And one warning was all you could expect from Alice Haskell, from any of the Haskell Witches. He'd tried to tell Ben that. He didn't know what she'd do next, and didn't want to know.
For their part, Daniel and Ben had been willing to wipe the slate clean, Morgans versus Pratts, and then some damn fool had to go dumping corpses on Morgan land, go shooting at seals, sneak out to Seal Island and nab that carry case. Stonefort folks wouldn't do those things, especially not Pratts. They knew the Stonefort rules. That evidence said there weren't any Pratts left alive in there. Just the brujo and his Peruvians.
And that flint. That flint that Alice said was Morgan business. "You broke it, you bought it." And apparently she'd been right, that Tupash was too weak to use it yet. He had to be strong enough to control it, or it would use him. Daniel had been waiting for the spook to leave. Now they could fumigate this rats' nest, destroy his base. Get that flint back, worry about what to do with it after. Think of it as a public service.
He stowed the radio and started to pack up his scope. He paused, grimaced, and took a deep breath. Pulled out a cell phone. Speed-dialed Alice.
He did not want to talk to her, but she needed to know exactly what he'd seen. What she did then was up to her. Always had been, always
