Circle of Enemies

“Thank you, Csilla,” I said to the old woman.

She looked up at me with a vague expression. “You’d better be worth it.”

Worth what? I didn’t know what it had cost her to cast the spell on me, and I squelched the urge to ask. She had already started staring dreamily at an empty spot on the wall. I sat, cut a small piece of bacon, and put it into my mouth. I didn’t vomit or have a seizure. The flavor seemed muted, but I didn’t have the urge to spit it out.

While I chewed, I tried to decide what to tell Annalise and the other peer. I knew them well enough to know what would happen if I told them about the drapes. It’d be like putting out a contract on Arne and the others.

But what could I leave out? It wasn’t just that Annalise would kill me if I tried to shield another friend—she would, but that wasn’t the important part. The important part was that protecting my friends would almost certainly unleash more predators on the world.

And there was the thought that had been lurking in my mind ever since Melly was carried away. Luther had been lying at the bottom of the tub in his house the whole time I’d been there, and when he died, his drape carried him away and two more came through.

That had to have been what happened, because that’s what happened to Melly. The only difference was that three drapes had come through when she died. Did that mean four would come through when the next one died? Five for the one after that?

I tried to do some quick math, but the others were staring at me and the numbers jumbled in my head. Damn. I’d been lucky that the first two victims had died indoors and close to me. If Summer, Ty, or one of the others keeled over in a subway station, or outside a Starbucks, the drapes would be free to hunt in secret. In no time, people would vanish by the thousands until the whole world was empty.

My friends were important to me, but were they more important than the survival of every living thing on the planet?

I told Annalise, Csilla, and Talbot everything. I didn’t sugarcoat it, and I didn’t hold back any names. I even told them about the Bugatti, Wardell, and Steve Francois.

While I spoke, Annalise stared at me the way a cat stares at a mouse hole. Talbot kept eating; he was paying careful attention, but he was trying to be casual about it. Csilla stared off into space and didn’t seem to know I was there.

When I was done, I realized I still didn’t have my ghost knife. I asked for it. Annalise nodded at Talbot, and he resentfully fetched it for me.

“These ‘drapes’ are minor stuff,” Annalise said.

I was startled. “What do you mean, boss?”

“The big question is this: Why is your old buddy Wally King making operatives in L.A.?”

It was hard to imagine Arne or Fidel as an operative of Wally’s, but they owed him, and he could collect at any time.

“He’s trying to end the world,” I said.

“Seriously?” Talbot said, a crooked, swollen-lipped smirk on his face. “I’m sitting here squirting ketchup on home fries, and we’re talking about a guy who wants to destroy the world?”

“He thinks it’s a mercy killing,” I said. “He thinks something worse is going to happen to us. He thinks the whole world is going to be—” Talbot was still smirking. “Is this funny to you?”

“No no!” he said, smiling wide enough to show teeth. “It’s just …”

“I know.” Talbot didn’t have to say it. He felt like a hero, fighting to save the world, and he loved it.

“There is a dream in my eye,” Csilla suddenly said. “I see strangers and darkness and a thought as large as the universe.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Annalise said: “We know what he wants. Why does he think he can make it happen here, in Los Angeles?”

“I pressed him to find out what he was doing, but …” What was I supposed to say? He started calling me a rock star and I got distracted? “I’m sorry. I was focused on the predators. All he told me is that he needed people to get a puzzle. He had a simple plan to steal it, but he blew it.”

Annalise put down her fork. “He had a simple plan?”

“He’s not a smart guy, boss. I don’t think he could plan a meal, let alone an elaborate crime.”

“Have you seen this?” Talbot asked between bites of toast. He slid a newspaper across the table toward me. At the top was a notice about security preparations for the president to speak at the L.A. Convention Center about renewable energy or something. But below that was a follow-up article on the movie star break-in. Ms. Egan-Jade’s spokesperson said the actress was going to sell her house without returning to it. She’d also set aside a trust fund for the murdered housecleaner’s children. Apparently, the woman had died. To Egan-Jade’s credit, she also blasted unnamed media personalities who had expressed relief that “only” a housekeeper had been killed.

I liked her just for that. At the bottom of the article, it stated that police had no leads but were investigating puzzling aspects of the case.

I glanced up at the others. They were watching me, waiting impatiently for me to finish. “Puzzling aspects?” I asked.

Csilla narrowed her eyes. “So many dreams that they come to life. Puzzling.” I couldn’t tell if she was responding to me or not.

Talbot smiled. If it stretched and hurt his fat lip, he didn’t show it. “See, that’s what I’ve been doing. It’s surprisingly hard to get information out of the cops in this town. Easy to get them to crack you on the head with a stick, but hard to get them to take a bribe.” He spoke like he was giving a performance, and he was so snide about it that I wanted to punch him again.

“We are beautiful children swimming in the belly of the great fish,” Csilla said.