Play Dead (24 page)
“Problem?” he asked. His tone was light but his voice was weak.
“There’s always a problem,” I said. “Haven’t you learned that?”
It usually takes Lou a while to trace a path out of a singularity, and at the speed those things were traveling they’d be on us long before then. I could remove the enhancement from Lou, but the snakes were close enough now that it wouldn’t matter. Or I could leave it on and he could lead them away from us again, but by the time we finally got out of here it would be too late for Malcolm. He needed to get to a hospital, and soon, to have a chance.
And now it was getting dark. Evening was closing in, and as difficult as it might be to avoid invisible monsters in the day, it’s worse at night. They can still accurately locate you by smell but you can’t even see where you’re going. The chances of your getting away then approach zero.
Time for another plan. Fifty feet off the trail I spotted a deadfall: tangled branches, logs, and a new growth of tough-looking vines. It might work. I called to Lou.
“That way,” I said, pointing. “Into that pile of logs, and wait.”
He dutifully trotted off. He was getting used to my seemingly pointless directions by now. When he was younger he would have at least given me a questioning look, but these days he had more faith. He usually won’t balk unless I ask him to do something that might result in unfortunate consequences if something goes wrong. He’s not stupid.
He wormed his way into the middle of the brush, and as soon as he did I pulled the odor enhancement off him and focused it into a tight knot. Which I then buried in the middle of the deadfall.
“Back here,” I yelled. “Backtrack on your trail.”
This was something he understood. He followed his path back exactly, even the little twists that kept it from being a straight line. When he reached his starting point, I said, “Okay. Jump now, as far as you can. To me.”
He gathered himself and leapt upward and outward, traveling a good eight feet before his paws hit the ground again. So now the snakes would follow his trail into the deadfall, where the intense odor that remained would convince them he was hiding in there, like a rabbit gone to earth. They’d tear the deadfall to pieces, spurred on by the overpowering odor that was concentrated in the brush, with a trail that dead-ended. Convinced that Lou had to be in there, it would take them a good while before they gave up.
We started off again and by this time I was half carrying, half dragging Malcolm. We hadn’t gone far before I heard a thrashing commotion behind us. The snakes had found their prey, or so they thought.
Lou followed his usual routine when slipping between interdimensional spaces—turning, backtracking, speeding up and slowing down, as if he were weaving a silent musical pattern in space and time. I was having trouble keeping up. Malcolm could barely stay on his feet, totally out of it, and by now I was actually carrying him most of the time. My shirt was splattered with his blood and I was getting seriously worried.
The foliage and the weather started changing, bit by bit. We cut through some bushes after one final turn and I recognized the path we were on. We were back in San Francisco, on the side of Mount Davidson.
“We made it,” I said, hardly able to believe it.
Malcolm didn’t answer. I slipped his arm from over my shoulders and laid him down carefully. He flopped over bonelessly, head lolling to one side. I’d made it, but it didn’t look like he had. Lou came over, took a brief sniff, and walked away, sitting down about ten feet away and turning his back. He doesn’t like death.
I checked Malcolm for vital signs. Nothing. Then I searched with my talent for any spark of life, but I knew it was hopeless.
“Fuck!” I said. “Fuck.”
Lou glanced over and yawned. None of his business, he was telling me. You mourn your friends, not your enemies.
I pulled Malcolm off the trail, covered the body with leaves and brush, and threw some dirt over it all to keep the leaves from blowing away at some inconvenient time. I laid an aversion spell over it all. If the body was found, as it surely would be just lying there unprotected, there’d be questions. I didn’t need any extra complications, or anyone in authority looking for his acquaintances.
But there was no reason for anyone to be tromping through the damp and muddy brush off the trail, and even a mild aversion spell would cause eyes to avert and glide right over the area. With any luck, it would be a year before the spell wore off totally, and by that time, hopefully, there’d be nothing but a bunch of worn bones. I looked down at the mound of leaves and dirt. A sad ending for a man who had once traveled through dimensions, buried under a bunch of scattered leaves, alone and unremarked on a prosaic hillside. But I guess to him it hardly mattered.
THIRTEEN
I DROVE HOME, MORTALLY DEPRESSED. TRUE,
Malcolm wasn’t really a friend, but death is death, and it drained all the joy out of making it back safe and sound. It had been a fine adventure, a tale worth telling, but it’s all fun and games until someone gets an eye put out. And I could hardly believe what Jackie had done. Sure, she was a black practitioner, but she was a musician, for God’s sake. Musicians don’t stab people without a moment’s hesitation or remorse. Which is a silly thing to say; of course they do, as much as anyone else. But I still thought of her as being like me, in a way. That kind of sloppy thinking could get me killed, though.
A quick stop at a newspaper rack told me it was only the next day, so for once the time flow in the singularity had run parallel to the real world. By the time I got home it was fully dark. I checked to make sure my wards didn’t show any signs of tampering and opened the front door.
Instead of going in, Lou stopped and looked around warily. I listened, but didn’t hear anything. For a minute we both stood outside the door, like unwanted guests. Then he shook himself and trotted inside.
I was hungry, but the fridge didn’t hold much of interest. I dug around and came up with some cheese, so I made a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches, the old-fashioned way, in a frying pan with a plate on top of them to provide the proper weight for grilling.
I usually made two, cut them in half, and gave Lou one of the halves with the other three halves for me. It’s one of his favorite treats, certainly more interesting than kibble even if processed cheese isn’t good for him. Or for me, I guess.
But instead of hanging around the stove, he hopped up on the table by the window and kept watch, on the alert. I opened it a crack to help his senses of hearing and smell. When I slipped the sandwiches on a plate and he didn’t even acknowledge it, I knew something serious was up. He cocked his head again as if not sure of what he was hearing, but he was hearing something. I listened as well, but heard nothing.
Sometimes I use a trick where I can see through Lou’s eyes, though it’s disorienting and leaves me with a violent headache afterward. In fact, it’s so disorienting that it can render me incapable for a while, so it’s only a last resort. But I’d never tried it with his hearing. That shouldn’t be so bad.
Another problem with the vision spell was that I could only see whatever Lou was looking at, and occasionally he’d be scanning the treetops for invading squirrels when I wanted to check out something very different. But sound is not dependent on a sight line like vision; I’d be able to hear anything he could, far beyond my own dull sense of hearing.
I put down the plate and concentrated, trying to focus on sounds I could identify, like the noise of traffic barely audible in the distance. Then I shifted my consciousness into the psychic realm, ran a feedback loop through Lou, and felt the familiar dislocation as his sense of hearing became mine.
It wasn’t as bad as the vision spell. It didn’t make me sick to my stomach, but it wasn’t as useful as I’d hoped, either. I could hear amazingly well, not just better, but a quantum leap in ability. I could have heard a squirrel rustling a branch fifty yards away. But there was a problem—hearing is not accomplished just by the ears; it’s also done by the brain. Babies can hear perfectly well, but they can’t make much sense of the sound waves coming into their ears. Like sight, hearing takes interpretation as well as a perceptual filter to focus and block out irrelevancies—we’re constantly ignoring things we hear unless they have importance to us.
So what I heard was astoundingly clear, but it was also a cacophony of sounds from all directions, some soft, some loud, but none of them identifiable or even comprehensible. It was worse than useless.
I tried to focus on the familiar traffic sounds I’d heard before, hoping to find purchase. At first I couldn’t distinguish them from the wind blowing through tree leaves, but eventually I got a handle on it. I blocked out the myriad distractions until I could distinguish the sounds of engines revving and tires hissing on pavement.
I narrowed my concentration, ignoring farther-off sounds and listening only to those right outside my window. I fine-tuned, until I could hear footsteps going by, not pausing. A can rolling in the gutter. Branches rubbing together in the bush near the window. And an odd sound, not quite a rustle, familiar but hard to identify. Movement of some sort, something large, but with no footfalls, and a steady, smooth quality like a wave on sand.
When I suddenly recognized what I was hearing, it was enough of a shock to break my connection to Lou. My hearing went back to normal, and although Lou now had his lip curled back in a snarl, I no longer could hear a thing. But I knew what I’d heard. A snake.
How was that possible? There was no way either of those things could have followed us back into our world, much less have tracked us to our home. But then again, what did I know about it? Anything was possible.
We’d probably be safe inside—the flat was protected by excellent wards, and if the snake was unaffected by them, there was still a strong front door and a back door as an escape hatch if worse came to worst. But if it tracked me here, it could track me anywhere. And waiting for it like a rabbit in a bolt-hole was not an attractive option.
Then I came to my senses. This was absurd, a fantasy constructed from nothing more than weariness, paranoia, and a peculiar sound I’d heard. There was no giant snake waiting outside for me. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t something out there.
I eased quietly over to the closet and took out the katana Victor had given me. I was sure it couldn’t be the snakes, but even so, I still had a faint nagging doubt. I’d seen impossible things before. And magical talent might not work on them, but a sharp blade certainly would. Besides, there was something elemental and satisfying about the feel of the sword in my hand.
I motioned to Lou, turned out the lights in the house so I wouldn’t be backlit, and cautiously opened the door. Lou slipped out silently, an invisible shadow. I closed the door behind me and stood there until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The light streaming from windows of houses along the street provided enough illumination to see fairly well. Lou pressed up against my leg in warning before he crept toward the tangle of bushes that crowded the side of the house. I moved in behind him, sword held at the vertical. Anyone passing by who saw me would be sure to call the cops.
We made it all the way to the back of the house without incident, but Lou didn’t relax so I didn’t, either. He turned around and headed back toward the street, more slowly this time. He stopped and half crouched, every muscle quivering.
“Mason!” a voice called.
I glanced up and saw Jessie standing on the sidewalk fifteen feet away. She took a step forward, and as she did there was a flurry of movement by the side of the house as something moved and Lou pounced. A sudden thrashing, and then Lou was out in the open, jaws clamped down on the neck of a huge snake. Naja. So I hadn’t been entirely mistaken. I’d just had the wrong snake in mind.
For a moment Lou had her, but he’s only twelve pounds and Naja weighed as much, if not more. And she was reptile strong, a cord of banded muscle. She twisted around and threw him off his feet, and as he went down his grip loosened just enough for her to sink her fangs into his shoulder, just above the harness.
Lou gave a yelp and let go, springing back out of range momentarily. For a moment he faced her defiantly, and then his legs buckled and he staggered drunkenly sideways. Naja reared up in the iconic cobra posture, towering over him, almost as tall as I was, preparing to strike again.
I sprang forward, turning the edge of the katana blade toward her as I moved, drawing it back for a strike of my own. Naja was no rope hanging from a beam, but I’d still slice her in half if it was the last thing I ever did.
I heard Jessie’s footsteps running toward me but paid it no attention. She’d never get to me in time. Then she yelled again, louder.
“No! Don’t!”
If it had been a threat or a cry of anger, it would have had no effect on me. But it wasn’t; it was a scream of fear and anguish, raw emotion and desperation. That made me hesitate a fraction of a second and that was all it took for Naja to pull back just enough so I couldn’t be sure of a clean strike. Victor always says I’m too soft and that it will end up getting someone killed someday. Maybe he’s right.
“Don’t,” Jessie cried again. “It was an accident. She didn’t mean it.” By now Jessie was almost on top of me. “I can still save Lou, but it’s got to be right now. He’s only got seconds before he’s gone.”
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