blond hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, his expression focused and serious, his grip on the steering wheel hard. He leaned forward as he drove, as if he was controlling the car by the direct force of his will as much as by the wheel in his hands.
“I screwed up,” I said.
He glanced over at me, no more than a flicker, then his ice-blue eyes were back on the road.
“If you say so,” he said.
“I shouldn’t have let Aubrey leave the shotgun in the car,” I said. “If we were going into something that we thought might require protection, it was stupid of me to leave the weapon outside. And I should have brought you and Chogyi Jake as backup. It was my fault.”
The lines around his mouth softened a little bit. Not much.
“It was an easy mistake to make. Don’t let it bother you. You’ll do better next time,” he said. And then a few moments later, “Eric should never have taught him that. It’s like giving live ammunition to a ten-year-old. It doesn’t matter how good his intentions were, it’s too much power to have control over it.”
“It worked,” I said. “The thing would have killed us if Aubrey hadn’t done what he did.”
“Yeah,” Ex said, and gunned the engine, passing a semi and cutting back into traffic in front of it.
“We’ll do better next time,” I said.
“Yeah.”
At the house, Midian was waiting on the couch, a soccer game playing on the television. His sleeves were rolled up to expose the blackened beef jerky of his forearms and he was smoking another cigarette. The house was starting to reek of them. He stood as we came in the room.
“Well?” he asked.
“Coin’s still where he was. One bodyguard. No one watching from the roof, no wards on the perimeter past what Eric was expecting. He thinks we’ve gone to ground,” Ex said.
“We’re on, then?” Midian asked. Ex hesitated for a moment. I knew what he was thinking.
“Yeah,” Ex said. “We’re on.”
Midian grinned, smoke curling between his ruined teeth.
Nine
The plan was simple, and even easier because it was already laid out. Instead of Eric luring Coin free of his hive, Chogyi Jake would do the work. Instead of Eric’s hired muscle attacking Coin, Ex and Aubrey and I would do the honors with sniper rifles and custom ammunition designed to disrupt riders. I pulled up satellite photos of the warehouse and everything around it from Google Earth and printed out copies for everyone. Ex diagrammed where each of us would be and worked out the timetable. I kept expecting him to tell us to synchronize our watches, but since all of our cell phones pulled the data from the same satellites, that part was really covered already. I’d just been watching too many old movies.
Aubrey joined in just before sundown, looking like a man only half recovered from the flu. He moved slowly, and I tried to tell myself it was mostly just the wounds. The physical ones.
When we’d done everything there was to do, Aubrey crawled back into bed. Chogyi Jake left, going off to run some normal human errand-feed his cats, check his mail, something mundane and reassuring like that. Ex set himself on the couch like a guard, turned on the television, turned it off again, and pulled a book of essays by Bertrand Russell out of his things. He read it with a constant sneer. Midian sat in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
Back in the bedroom, my laptop open on the bed, it struck me that the hardest thing was going to be waiting the three days before our moment came. I got online and against my better judgment, I checked the blogs of everyone I’d known from before I’d come to Denver. My old boyfriend was still bitching about the band he was in that never quite got it together to practice. My dorm mate from last year had apparently just noticed that feminism existed and couldn’t decide whether she thought it was a good thing. The girl I’d once considered my best friend hadn’t posted anything since she’d gone off to Portland with her boyfriend in June.
It was a depressing exercise. When I’d gone to college, all bridges to my parents and church reduced to cinders and ash behind me, I’d thought I was starting my real life at last. I’d thought that everything I did, every person I met or hated or fell in love with,
I thought about leaving a comment. Inherited more money than God, fighting forces of darkness. Think I’m in love with my dead uncle’s not-boyfriend. L8R. I didn’t. For one thing, they wouldn’t have believed me, and for another, it turned out I didn’t care if they did. Or if that wasn’t true, at least I didn’t want to care. I told myself that they’d left as little mark on me as I’d left on them, and I was even able to convince myself a little.
I spent the rest of the evening Googling the terms that Ex and Aubrey and Chogyi Jake kept tossing around. Riders, possession, daughter organism. By the time I fell asleep, I was reading long essays about the difference between a therian and a werewolf, and I’d learned the term otherkin. Things that a month ago would have seemed like schizophrenic ravings were making sense to me now, and I didn’t know whether I found that reassuring or scary.
When the sunlight streaming through the windows woke me, I felt like crap. I made my way out to the main part of the house to find Ex and Aubrey had gone. Midian lay on the couch, hands folded corpselike on his chest. Only Chogyi Jake was there and awake, working on a crossword puzzle and drinking green tea.
“Hey,” I said.
“Good morning,” he said. His smile was one of the most genuine things I’d ever seen. “Ex is out getting the rifles. Aubrey said he had to see to his lab. He debated waking you before he went, but he wanted to let you rest.”
“Probably a good call,” I said, hiding a pang of disappointment. “So. What are you up to?”
“Nothing in particular. Why?” he asked. And then, with a conspiratorial lowered voice, “Getting stir- crazy?”
“I was thinking. We know that all the Invisible College guys are busy, right? It’s not like they’re going to send out any more hit squads to just wander the streets in case they bump into us.”
“That’s certainly the assumption, yes,” he said, folding the half-finished puzzle.
“So. There’s no real
CHOGYI JAKE’S van smelled like a mechanic’s shop: motor oil and WD-40 and the cold, subtle scent of steel tools. The windows all had a thin coating of old grease that made the world outside seem like a movie with the focus just barely off. The bucket seats were cracked, the foam stuffing peeking through. The back compartment was dark as a cave. Perfect for moving corpses. The dead woman’s face-the blue of her eyes, the black marks inscribed on her skin, the surprise on her face-flickered in my mind for a moment. I shook myself, hoping movement could dislodge the image.
“There used to be a really good bookstore just across the street,” Chogyi Jake said as he pulled into a parking space. A California Pizza Kitchen cowered under the looming weight of Saks Fifth Avenue and I felt something in my belly starting to uncoil. “It’s over on Colfax now. We can go there after this if you’d like.”
“Pretty clothes first,” I said. “Mind-improving literature later.”
“As you wish,” he said, with a smile. I had the feeling he was amused by me, and that he took some joy in my self-indulgence. I liked him for it.
I had another ten thousand dollars in my pocket, freshly drawn from the bank without a word or a whisper from anyone. We walked through the growing heat of the August morning and into the air-conditioned artificial cool of the mall, like walking into another world. I breathed in deeply and felt the smile come across my face.
Saks Fifth Avenue. Neiman Marcus. Abercrombie & Fitch. None of them was safe from me. Victoria’s Secret gave up a half dozen of the great-looking bras I had never been able to afford. I got blue jeans, I got suits, I got the little black evening dress that my mother had said every girl needs, but said quietly so my father couldn’t
