Game of Cages

His coat was open, presumably to give me a glimpse at the sigils burned into the lining. A peer! An honest-to- God peer had finally come.

I must have let my relief show. He gave me a sour, condescending smile and pushed into the room. “Shut the door,” he said. I did.

Everything about the guy gave off contempt, but I was glad he was there. A peer in the Twenty Palace Society ought to have the power to take out the sapphire dog, not to mention the bidders.

“The investigator who brought me here is—”

“I know who she is. I’ve read her report and don’t need to talk to her.”

“You don’t understand. She’s been kidnapped. I need your help to get her back.”

“I don’t rescue people. I kill predators.”

Of course not. I hated this guy already, but there were bigger things at stake than my feelings. “Okay. What can I do—”

“I don’t answer questions from wooden men. Are we clear?”

I felt the skin on the back of my neck prickle. Was I going to have to throw down with this guy right here? “We’re clear.”

“Has anything happened since the last supplemental report?”

“I don’t know when Catherine made the last supplemental report,” I answered. I kept my tone neutral.

“It was this morning.”

“Then yes.”

Pratt was getting annoyed, too. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, something more has happened since the last report.”

He glowered, then looked away and laughed a little, shaking his head. He loosened his coat, probably to give me another look at his sigils. “Has she told you what’s at stake here?”

“Wait … let me guess. End of everything that matters to us, right?”

“That’s right. Creatures from the Empty Spaces are terribly inefficient predators. They invade a habitat and hunt it to destruction. They don’t have any balance about them.”

“The sapphire dog isn’t killing anyone—just making them crazy.”

He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “But you want to put your pride above all of that, don’t you? You want respect.” He gave me a thin smile. I’d seen that look before. It was a cop’s expression—a look of superiority so complete he would never think to question it.

“Sure, sure,” I said. “The stakes are so high you get to do whatever you want and I have to take it. Let me give you an update so you can make your big exit.”

I gave him a quick rundown of everything that had happened since Catherine and I rented the cars. I described the predator, the way the victims had looked, and how it seemed to split apart when threatened. He asked what I had threatened it with, and I told him Steve’s gun; I wasn’t going to tell this jerk about my ghost knife.

When I started telling him about the cellphone and the kidnapping call, he lost interest. When I got to “… then I opened the door and was insulted by you,” he was already walking out.

He stopped in the hall and smirked. “You’re done. Run along home now, if you can.” He left.

There was a moment when I could have booted him in the ass, but I let it pass. If Pratt was anything like my boss, he could have pinched my head off with one hand. Peers were strong and tough—they had to be to face predators. And the guy killed for a living.

I checked my pockets to make sure I still had everything, then went outside to the Neon. I didn’t know the names of any of the streets in Washaway, but I knew how to get in and out. I followed the road to the bridge, drove by the burned-out Breakley farm, then kept going. I passed the Wilburs’ black iron gate and finally reached a shopping center. A road sign promised to connect me with a state route just down the hill, but I didn’t see the road.

The Grable was set in the back corner of the shopping center. All that was visible of it was a cinder-block wall painted the same color as the field house and an entry arch with a sign at the top. The NO VACANCY sign was lit.

As I cruised by, I saw an open courtyard/parking lot with just enough space for cars to drive down the center and angle park in front of the units on either side. In fact, there were three BMW X6’s in there now, all parked in front of units at the far end of the lot. The Maybach was in the last slot.

There was no possibility of getting in the front way without being exposed to every unit. I drove across the lot.

The shopping center was laid out in the shape of a U. At one end was a drugstore. At the other was a supermarket. In between was a variety of little shops and storefronts—a small bookstore, a pitch-dark bar, a dentist, a drive-up burger joint, a teriyaki restaurant, a Subway, and several darkened windows with FOR LEASE signs in them. All were one story tall, except the drugstore and supermarket, which had peaked roofs. The Grable sat in the back corner of the U.

All the windows were papered with sale prices, garlands, and religious displays. There was a huge inflatable Santa and reindeer on the roof.

Santa gave me an idea. I parked beside the drugstore and went inside. I bought a newspaper, a lighter, and a votive candle with Fat Guy’s money, then went around the back of the building.

The alley was strewn with trash and smelled like old piss. It was wide enough for a trash truck to squeeze through. The paint on the buildings was peeling, while the guardrail on the other side of the alley, where the ground