Midnight's Angels - 03 (7 page)

Amelia Hobart finally woke when strips of sunlight from the room’s Venetian blinds drifted across her face. At first, that had the same effect as someone holding feathers underneath her nose. Her small, delicate features screwed up. She murmured, grunted, shifted. Then she seemed to take in where she was, and finally came back to consciousness.

Oh Lord, she’d fallen asleep in the chair and had been there all night. She tried to sit up quickly, but was prevented from doing so by a sharp pain in her back. She’d been stuck halfway between sitting and lying, her frame twisted. Her whole body ached.

Her next thought was, urgently,
the kids!
Then she remembered where they were and knew that they’d be safe. They’d have some questions when she saw them. “Where were you at breakfast, Mommy?” But by now, their grandmother would probably be doling out so much sugary cereal and so much maple syrup that the three girls would be hyperactive by the time she came to fetch them. Had Mom never heard of dental bills?

Amelia tried to move again, more carefully this time. The ache in her back still nagged at her, but she was resolute and worked her way around it. She got to her feet, and started to brush her rumpled clothes down. But they stuck to her in places.
Yew.
There was a shower cubicle around here somewhere, and she’d have to use it.

She moved across to the window, pushing two of the thin aluminum slats apart. A perfectly lovely fall day was unfolding outside. The sun was shining brightly, though she doubted that the temperature would be as warm as she’d prefer. A flock of tiny finches were busy in the nearby hedgerows. Leaves were dropping from a massive oak across the road from this part of the hospital. A soft breeze picked them up again, making them dance along the curb like red and gold confetti.

She wished Saul could see this, since she knew her husband lived for mornings such as these. They were so … ‘optimistic,’ that was the most fitting word. Wake up on a day like this, and you could easily believe that everything was fine with the whole universe. Everything in balance, and not a single problem in sight, even in a town like this.

She wished she had a camera.

No, I’ll tell him about it
, Amelia decided.
Describe every aspect of this lovely morning.

The doctors had encouraged her to talk to him, hadn’t they? Even while he was in this coma, in the hope that something that she said would make a spark flare in his mind. What better subject could she choose? Wouldn’t Saul
want
to be conscious on a day like this one?

She mentally composed how she was going to start, then turned to his bed.

Her husband had angled his face in her direction, and his eyes were now wide open.

* * *

Pastor Alan Clary was a very early riser, and had already been up for several hours. He had taken a light breakfast, walked his two Golden Retrievers, gotten back to the house in time for the delivery of the
Landing Ledger
, which he sat down with in his favorite armchair and devoured. He always liked to keep in touch with what was happening in his community, and skimmed every item, stopping where it was important.

And by this hour he was in his church, St. Edmund’s on Canterbury. He liked to get here early and make sure everything was spick and span, the pews free of dust and the prayer books neatly stacked away.

There were several precious artifacts on display. A gold-plated crucifix on the altar, and a jewel-studded goblet beyond that. But he never hid them, unworried about their being stolen. The people in this town were generally good folk, and would not do that to the belongings of a church. It was more normally visitors you needed to be wary of. The ones who got in past the curse were never usually good. And the inhabitants of the district to the south were a cause for concern, of course. But they never ventured this far up.

The church was a block north of Greenwood Terrace, one of the main thoroughfares through town. Beyond that was the district known as Tyburn, whose denizens were a notoriously strange bunch. Most folk in Raine’s Landing -- apart from the adepts -- only used magic occasionally. But the inhabitants down there practiced it the entire time. It had become the center of their lives.

Because of that, they had become a very tight, enclosed community, sealing themselves off from the rest of the town. They had their own ways of doing things, or so he’d heard. Traditions, apparently, that went right back as far as Regan Farrow’s time. So far as Alan knew, there were no active Christian churches in that neighborhood.

Godless souls
, he thought.
Don’t they understand? There has to be some higher power than magic.

He remembered discussing it, when he’d been a young man, with his own friend and mentor, Dr. Evan Phillips.

“In the outside world, so I understand it, magic and Christianity don’t mix. In fact, they’re not allowed to. They are seen to be in direct opposition to each other. Have I got that right?”

Evan smiled gently and nodded. “You have. But it’s a misguided belief that we in the Landing turn our faces against. How on earth could using magic for good purposes offend the Lord? If He didn’t want us to practice it, then He wouldn’t have given it to us in the first place.”

Alan had already considered that, and came up with another question.

“Might we believe that simply because it’s convenient to do so? I mean, given our circumstances? The whole web of magic that this town had found itself entrapped in?”

Evan’s smile became more knowing. “We are only human, son. Most belief is determined, in the end, in good part by convenience. When it’s inconvenient and you still do it …
that
is the true test of faith.”

The pastor drew back from the recollection. He went up the steps to the altar, rearranged the pieces on it slightly. There was no real need, but it was his habit. He was fussy and he knew it. And he was just about to turn away, when he thought he heard a small sound from the crypt.

There were no vermin in this building, he was sure of that. And Mrs. Larch, the woman who volunteered as cleaner, was not due today. Maybe a stray cat had gotten down there … what else could it be?

He went to the door, which was always kept slightly ajar. And pulled it further open. It was dense oak with iron rivets across it, and seemed to weigh half a ton. His shoulders ached. He peered into the darkness below, then reached for a light switch.

Nothing happened.

“Hey?”

No answer came, but Alan thought he saw a brief flicker of very pale white light. Not exactly like a flashlight beam. More like an abrupt electric sizzle. There was no accompanying sound, but he knew that there was a big fuse box down there, the entry point for the whole church’s power supply. And the idea that it had developed a fault …

He began murmuring gently to himself, backtracking to a cabinet where, amongst other things, there were candles stored. They were mostly used for services, but he needed one for a more practical purpose today. He fumbled with a box of matches, lit one up, then put it in a holder. After which, he returned to the doorway.

His eyes strained as he peered into the gloom. Off toward the rear of the chamber, he made out that flickering again. It was in the strangest shape, almost like the white wing of some massive bird.

If sparks were being thrown that heavily then maybe he should call an electrician. But the church might burn down before one showed up. Alan thought he knew which the right switch was to cut off the supply of power. It would be better to do that first, and worry about the finer details later.

Stepping carefully, his footsteps clacking on the stonework and his shadow looming massively around him in the candlelight, the pastor started heading down.

Less than an hour later, I was back in the woods again, surrounded by a bleached-out hush. The only difference was that it was daylight this time. I was back where the meteors had hit the earth. The fires had been put out completely, but the deep furrows in the loamy dirt were still steaming gently. And there was a strange mineral smell filling the entire area, an odor that seemed to have very little to do with our world.

Willets had only been halfway right. Two of the meteors had sealed themselves shut again, their occupants presumably cocooned inside. He’d told us there’d be no way to break into them, and I supposed he might be right. But I’d brought both himself and the judge along to test that.

They let loose lightning bolts, and searing blasts of power. But to absolutely no effect. And none of the spells they tried worked either. They couldn’t even levitate the things an inch, much less destroy them.

The third rock was still wide open, hollow as a walnut shell. None of us were pleased to see that, wondering where its inhabitant had gone.

I was forced to retrace my steps across the municipal border before I could get Vallencourt on his cell phone, since Regan’s Curse means that you can’t communicate outside the town. And I outlined the situation for him.

“These two have to be the ones I saw in the commercial district.”

“Where’s the third?” he asked.

Still in town, would be my guess. It had to be the creature that had been transforming families there. If it was still there in daylight, then it had to be in hiding, somewhere deep and dark. I explained all that to Ritchie, and then advised him to watch his step.

Then I noticed there were softly murmuring voices in the background, on the far end of the line. So I asked him where he was.

“Raine General,” he told me. “The lieutenant’s woken up.”

Which came as a complete surprise. I felt my heart bang up against my ribs, relief washing through me. My God, Saul had recovered. He was going to be okay. And I’d thought for certain he was dead when Cass -- or rather, the physical incarnation of her dark side -- had shot him.

My lungs didn’t seem to move for several drawn-out seconds. And then I managed to gasp, “How is he?”

“He’s weak. There’s been some wasting of the muscles.”

Which meant the man would need a lot of therapy.

“But he’s all right, apart from that?”

Ritchie sounded vague, uncertain. “Physically, he’s pretty much fine. But there seems to be a problem with his memory.”

And I’d not been expecting that.

“How bad?”

“The doctors are still trying to figure that one out. He doesn’t even recognize his wife yet.”

Which slowed my heartbeat right back down, dampening my excitement. I was delighted that Saul had found his way back to us. But in what shape?

“There’s no telling how much he’ll get back,” Ritchie was explaining. He sounded as if he was parroting what he had been told by the medics. “It’s different in every case, apparently. Which means we’ve nothing to go on.”

I absorbed that carefully, feeling my mouth grow a little numb. And then I accepted the reality of what was happening, and moved on past it.

“Well, give him my best wishes all the same. Amelia too.”

“I’ll do that.” He paused. “What exactly are you up to, Ross?”

I stared back at the forest I had just emerged from.

“Me? I’m on my way to look up an old friend.”

* * *

I told the adepts what had happened. And then took my leave of them, since I needed to do this next part on my own.

As I headed through the trees toward the riverbank, what Willets had recently said kept rebounding back at me. If we were going to fight these things, we needed our best people to the fore. The bravest, toughest, hardiest souls. And for the last couple of months, we had been short one individual who definitely answered that description.

The river finally came in view, a band of pale softened brightness amongst this mass of faded brown and orange. I could faintly hear the sounds that it was making, a slow release of gentle high notes on the edges of my consciousness. Then Cassie’s campsite swung in view.

The fire was still out. She’d no need to relight it at this time of day, since it wasn’t very cold. She was on her back on a flat strip of turf a few yards from the water, doing crunches, her lean frame tensing every time she lifted up. She was doing them the right way, with her hands beside her ears rather than folded back behind her head. And she’s never been any muscle-bound babe, but Cassie likes to keep herself in good condition.

I gazed back at the home she’d made herself. It was starting to look more temporary than ever. The shelter’s roof was sagging in the middle. Water had collected there. Some of the leaves further out to the edges had been blown away. She hadn’t bothered to replace them. And the same worry came back to me that had been nagging me for quite a while.

Winter would be arriving soon. And did she plan to stay out here when the snows came? I hoped not.

A few of her possessions were scattered around inside the hut. Clothing mostly. And some implements she needed to survive. But I could make out the one object that meant the most to her. The photograph of Cass with her three kids, sprawled out and smiling in Crealley Street Park. She had lost them to magic gone wrong, exactly the same as with my family. I was pretty sure that it was one of the reasons we’d become so close.

I hunkered down a while and watched her. And it began occurring to me, far more than on earlier visits, that she looked a good deal healthier than she’d done in a whole age. Her skin had been dead pale for the past couple of years. By this time, it was light brown from being so much in the open air. And even though her hair was dirty, there was a rich luster to it.

When she finished exercising, stood up, everything about the way she moved was measured. Back when she had lived in town, she’d normally looked keyed-up and twitchy.

Her dark eyes seemed to have a gentler glow. There was still a strength and fire in them, but it was more controlled.

Was she ready to come back? I wondered. Or did living out here genuinely suit her, and she’d only implode again if she was lured back into her old lifestyle? I didn’t make the slightest move, and kept myself completely hidden. Probably because I was afraid what the answer to that last question might be.

I kept on wondering how to go about this. But as it turned out, the decision was taken out of my hands.

Cassie reached across and wiped her face down with a nearby rag. And then, without even turning, asked out loud, “Enjoying the show?”

And when I failed to reply, she followed that up with, “What, the detective business getting to you too much? Turning you into some kind of peeper? That’s not you.”

At which point, I stood up. And she glanced across her shoulder at me.

“How did you know I was here?”  I asked.

“I’ve known the past five or six weeks. Hell, I could feel you watching me.”

“And you knew it was
me
precisely how?”

She stared directly into my face, with a look that told me I was being stupid. Then she put that aside with a shrug. Went across and lit the fire. Got some water from the river in a metal pot, poured some granules from a tin can into that, and suspended it over the flames.

“It’s okay,” she told me, once that she was finished. “You can come the whole way down here. I don’t bite anymore.”

“Saul’s recovered,” I called out to her as I headed down the slope.

I really felt she had to know that straight away.

And when she looked at me again, it was with amazement. She didn’t seem sure how to react. Almost killing him had been one of the things that had pushed her over the edge, making her abandon her old life completely. Now, a variety of emotions fought each other across her features.

“He was out of it a good long while,” I continued. “But he’s back amongst the living. Willets mostly saved him.”

Her eyes went blankly glossy for a while. Which made me worry she was going into some kind of a relapse. But they cleared at last. And she even managed a tight smile.

“That’s real good news,” she answered. “Boy, I’m definitely pleased to hear that.”

She said it in a lengthy gasp, as though a part of herself had been holding its breath this entire time. Then her gaze began to sparkle slightly. I could see how genuinely glad she was.

But it was time to let the past go and move on beyond it. A necessary process. One that I had to be careful to approach gently and slowly. She looked a little more beat up, this close to me, than she had done from a distance. Still in great shape, though. But did that apply to her mentality?

“Nice little setup you’ve got yourself here,” I said, glancing around again and trying not to sound sarcastic.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve even got a sitting-log.”

“A what?”

She pointed to a fallen tree trunk over to our left. “Everyone should have one. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll fetch us some coffee.”

I did as she had asked, finding it quite hard to get comfortable. But I pretended it was fine. Watched as she poured hot brown liquid into two stained metal mugs. She was acting casually about all this, like nothing in the slightest was out of the ordinary. But I simply couldn’t read her, work out how she really felt, and I’d been able to before.

I took the mug she offered. Sipped at it, then spat it out, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth with something approaching anguish.

“What the hell is
this
?”

“Roasted, ground-up acorns. Folks in Europe used it as a coffee substitute during the War.” She gave me a joking look. “I may not read an awful lot, but even I’ve watched the History Channel from time to time.”

I wished she hadn’t, spilling the remainder of the muck onto the ground between my feet. That didn’t seem to offend her.

She sat down herself, about five feet away from me. It’s easy to avoid getting up close and personal on a sitting-log.

Studied me a while, then turned her gaze out on the river.

“Something new’s up, isn’t it?”

I suddenly felt very bad. God, but I could sense what she was thinking. The first time I’d approached her in two months, and it was when I needed something. Trouble a-brewing. Big black clouds on the horizon.

So I tried to explain. “It’s not like that.”

“What
is
it like, then?” she came back, still refusing to look at me. “Any major problems? What the hell, just dump them in Cass Mallory’s lap. She’ll sort ‘em out. That’s what she’s for.”

“There’s more to you than that.”

But her head shook.

“That was part of the problem, Ross. I’m not sure there was. Not since my kids went, anyway. And maybe that’s the reason why I quit and came out here. I could no longer bear living in one dimension.”

She gave me a moment to absorb that, and then added, “Know what frame of mind I’ve been in, most of my time out here?”

I stared at her, my shoulders hunching.

“Pretty bored, to tell the truth. And quite honestly, I’ve been fine with that. No monsters to fight. No demons to vanquish. No one shouting, ‘Help me, save me!’” Her mouth twisted. “Who saves
me
? I’ve done a lot of thinking on that score.”

I struggled to get the measure of what she was trying to tell me.

“If you’re talking about personal stuff …?”

She let out a brisk kind of laugh that was mostly snorting.

“I’m talking about
me
, Ross. And there’s nothing for me back there,” and she tilted her head in the direction of the town, “except obligation, duty, expectation. None of it reciprocal.”

Her neck seemed to go tense. She rubbed at it.

“I turn up. I save the day. I go back home again, and folks are glad I helped them, but that’s all. You cope with it fine. It seems to suit you. But I don’t think I can hack it any more.”

“You’ve got friends.”

“I had a cat as well. You’d think friends and a cat would be enough. But hey, apparently they’re not.”

“You could have just about any man you wanted.”

“Been down that route, more than a few times. And look what it got me.”

She was talking about Tom Larson, the idiot and lay-about who’d accidentally made her kids vanish. And when her eyes grew damp, I knew that she was staring back into the past.

I’d been going cautiously with her up until this point. But figured maybe that had been the wrong approach, and so I let a slight hint of annoyance creep into my tone.

“What do you want, the whole town to turn out and throw you a parade? We don’t do this because we have to. We do it because we can. You said it yourself, once. ‘It’s gotta be someone.’”

Staring at her wasn’t helping, so I gazed out at the river too.

“Whether we care or not, the monsters are still out there. They’re not going to stop hurting people because you don’t want to fight them anymore.”