Raven's Peak (6 page)

He would turn the images over tomorrow, sure, but that meant he still had the night to put his story together and get the images he needed.

His computer started buzzing and popped up a Skype call. He glanced at the name, let out a sigh, and then clicked accept.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Haatim? Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Why are you in your underwear?”

“It’s my apartment,” he said. “And I’m not expecting visitors.”

She put her hand on her forehead and mumbled a few unmentionable phrases.

“Oh, Haatim,” she said finally.

“Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine,” he replied.

“Are you sure? You haven’t called in weeks, and I haven’t seen you since you left for Arizona.”

“I’ve only been back for three months.”

“I’m worried that you aren’t facing your grief properly, Haatim. You should be surrounding yourself with family and friends, not running away.”

Haatim was silent for a long moment, struggling with the emotions roiling inside of him. He knew objectively that she was correct, and he did miss his family, but he also couldn’t ignore the part of himself that wanted to be alone.

“Was that all you needed?” he asked finally.

“No. Your father also wanted me to ask you if you need—”

“If he wants to ask me something, he can call himself,” Haatim interrupted. He kept his voice nonchalant, determined not to sound angry or frustrated. It didn’t work. “He doesn’t need to use you as a go-between.”

“He misses you,” she said.

“Does he?” Haatim asked. “He has a funny way of showing it.”

“You know he has a hard time expressing his emotions.”

“You use that excuse for him far too often,” Haatim said. “It would be different if he showed me or Nida
any
affection. Instead, he was always away. He was always off on business trips until Nida died, and then suddenly he wants everyone to think he was the best father in the world.”

“He was busy—”

“He never has trouble talking about his emotions when he’s preaching,” Haatim continued, ranting but unable to stop himself. “He was great at telling
other
people how much he loved us. In fact, I think he might be too good at it.”

There was a touch of bitterness in Haatim’s voice as he spoke and he forced himself to stop. He felt a strong ache in his chest and tears welling in his eyes.

“A lot of people loved your sister,” his mother said softly. “Your father was trying to help assuage their grief.”

“That doesn’t make her any less dead.”

The words hung in the air, and seconds ticked past. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he roughly brushed it away.

“He just wanted the people to know—”

“What did he want to ask me?” Haatim interrupted, determined to change the subject.

“He…he’s afraid that because of Nida’s death you’re losing your faith.”

“He’s not worried about losing his son? Or upset because his God took his daughter away from him? No, I guess not. He’s concerned that I’m losing faith in my religion?”

“You know it’s important to him.”

“Yeah. Of course. Priorities, right?”

“He just…”

“What kind of God would allow a sixteen-year-old girl to die from cancer? No, I’m sorry mom. Dad can keep his faith. He can shove the entire religion up his—”

“Haatim, you shouldn’t speak like this.”

“No, Mom, I’m not losing my faith. It’s gone. I’m done, and I’m out. You can tell him that if you want. I really don’t care.”

“Haatim…you know your place is here, with your family.”

“I’m not so sure,” he replied.

“Your sister wouldn’t want you to—”

“Don’t bring her into this,” Haatim interrupted. “You have no right to bring her into this.”

“We lost her, too, Haatim,” his mother said, and he could tell she was on the verge of crying.

Haatim was silent for a long moment, fighting down the wave of despair that always hit him when he thought about his little sister. It had been four months since she’d died of stomach cancer, but it hurt just as much as the first moment she was gone.

“Did you lose her?” he asked. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”

“Haatim!” his mother said sharply.

He blew out a deep breath of air. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

He saw her sniffle. “It’s OK.”

“Look, mom, I need to go. I’m busy, and I have some stuff to take care of.”

“We need to talk about this, Haatim,” his mother said. “I miss you, and your father misses you.”

“I know. You’re right. I’ll call you tomorrow, OK?”

“Haatim…”

“I promise, Mom, I’ll call.”

A pause, and then she said: “Very well. Have a good night, Haatim.”

“And you have a good day. Bye, mom.”

Then she clicked the connection closed. Haatim tapped the mouse on his desk, chewing on his lip and fighting back tears. He let out a coughing sob and knew his eyes were red. His emotions were roiling the same as they always were when he talked to either of his parents. He loved them completely and utterly, but another part blamed them for what happened to his sister.

That wasn’t completely true. He didn’t blame his mother for anything except her inability to stand up to his father. His father was the one who had refused to seek medical treatment for his sister when her condition worsened. He didn’t want to put her through rough clinical trials that would make her last few months miserable, and instead, he put his faith in God’s hands.

For all the good that did her.

Haatim pushed the thoughts and the bitterness away. After he graduated from college in Arizona he’d moved back to India to be with his family and get married, but after his sister died he’d fled back to his old stomping grounds in the States. He’d come here to get away from all of that grief and anger.

He glanced back at his computer and the missing place in his article for a photo. Like his life, he felt it wasn’t complete and had a vast, empty hole in it.

Haatim got dressed, grabbed his camera, and headed out into the night. It was passed time he got those photographs.

Abigail Dressler waited in the little diner called Ashley’s Burger Joint for her tail to arrive. She sat in a corner booth, keeping her back to the wall so she had a clear view of the street and other patrons eating their meals. She sipped on lukewarm coffee and considered ordering a sandwich. Haatim was a little later than normal, and she was getting bored waiting for him.

She had to take care of some business and wrap things up with George Wertman, but she wanted to make sure Haatim followed her when she did. Normally she would just give him the slip and disappear, but this time, things were different.

Haatim had managed to get closer to her than she’d anticipated. He had snapped some incriminating photos of her, and she’d only found out about them this morning. She had to take care of the images to make sure they wouldn’t be floating over her head when she left Arizona.

She hadn’t considered Haatim a serious threat and was surprised that he’d managed to track her so efficiently. She was impressed with his skills considering how novice he was to the entire situation. She’d looked into him and confirmed that he wasn’t a detective and had no law enforcement affiliation. He was just a kid in over his head.

But that didn’t soften her annoyance that he was running late. She had to get to the docks before George managed to flee the city and escape, and she couldn’t do that until Haatim had shown up so he could follow her.

Her plan was to lead Haatim somewhere quiet after she dealt with George Wertman, confront him, and explain that he wasn’t cut out for this life and then delete all of the images he had of her. Finally, she would send him on his merry way.

No sense killing him if she didn’t have to.

She was handling a job on behalf of the Council; mostly, it was just tracking and information gathering against the Ninth Circle, but now her mission had changed to elimination. George was a low-level threat to the Council and they had decided to eliminate him. It wouldn’t be difficult.

Which was why they put Abigail on the job: they still didn’t trust her with anything important. Not after what happened in the Church. It had been a long time since the incident and she lost Arthur, but they still refused to cut her any slack. At first, she’d been so sore and miserable she didn’t care, but now it had been several months and it was getting downright patronizing.

Her phone started buzzing. She slipped it out of her pocket and read the name on the screen: Frieda. Abigail blew out an annoyed breath and accepted the call.

“Yeah?”

“Abi? Where are you?”

“I hate when you call me that. My name is Abigail.”

“And I hate when you dodge my calls. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for two days.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?” Frieda asked.

“What you sent me here to do.”

“Where are you?”

“In Arizona.”

“You aren’t finished yet?” Frieda asked.

“I only got the order this morning.”

“What order?”

“To eliminate Wertman.”

Frieda was silenced. “Who signed it?”

“Doesn’t say,” Abigail replied. “But it’s legitimate.”

“I didn’t authorize anything.”

“Then someone else must have. Do you want me to hold off?”

“No,” Frieda said. “Go ahead and take care of it. I’m sure I just missed the memo. Do you need backup?”

“Nope,” Abigail said. “Not for George.”

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be too difficult. George isn’t much of a threat.”

“That’s what pisses me off,” Abigail said. “It’s been five months, and you’re still holding my hand. I’m not a child, and I need some free reign to do my own things.”

“It’s not me. It’s the Council.”

“You are
on
the Council,” Abigail noted.

“Barely. I don’t have much sway. I’m on
your
side. I’ve been telling them we should trust you for weeks, they just don’t listen.”

“I need to look into Arthur and find out what happened.”

“They don’t want you to,” Frieda said. “Arthur is entirely off-limits.”

“For me?”

“For everyone,” Frieda said.

“I don’t care.”

“You should. I’m working on getting you cleared, but it’s hard to stick up for you when you go off the radar like this. You need to answer my calls.”

“I do,” Abigail said. “When I’m not busy. I’m going to take care of Wertman tonight.”

“Good, because we have something else for you to look into.”

“I told you I’m not doing anything else for the Council until I track down the demon who took Arthur.”

“That isn’t how this works,” Frieda replied. “You were ordered to stop looking into it.”

“I thought you were on my side.”

“In most things. This isn’t one of them. Just drop it, Abi.”

“You know I won’t.”

“Then you’re treading on thin ice,” Frieda replied coolly. “And no one is going to rescue you when you fall through.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Forget about him.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Abigail said. “He’s been saving me for my entire life.”

“Then let him save you now, too.”

“No,” Abigail said. “This time, I’m saving him.”

“The Council is pursuing various avenues—”

“Various avenues?” Abigail interrupted, incredulous. “What avenues, Frieda? The avenue of pretending everything is OK? They barely even admit anything happened at that Church, and you won’t even tell me what state it happened in. You know the Council isn’t going to look into it.”

Frieda hesitated. “Maybe not,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you should, Abi. The Council is watching you.”

Abigail felt a chill run across her spine. “Watching me?”

Abigail glanced at the street, wondering if she had another tail besides Haatim, her innocent bystander. Maybe someone else was following her, and this tail was good at staying out of sight.

Or, maybe Haatim was playing her, letting her think he was just a clueless bystander…

“After everything that happened, I can’t blame them,” Frieda said. “You had a demon inside you.”

“I know,” Abigail said, blowing out a sigh.

“You don’t remember anything from before the demon took you?”

“No,” Abigail said, annoyed. “We’ve been over this, Frieda. I don’t remember anything from while the demon was in control or a few weeks before.”

“OK.”

“So they don’t trust me?”

“No, they don’t,” Frieda replied. “And in their defense, you don’t have the greatest track record. You can’t keep going MIA.”

“All right, all right, I get it.”

“You’ll stop dodging my calls?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll stop looking into Arthur? I promised him I would keep you safe.”

“And I promised him I would find him,” Abigail said. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

“Abi, the Council might not care what happened to Arthur, but I do. I’m looking into it, and I promise that as soon as I find something you will be the first person I call.”

“We should be talking to—”

“No,” Frieda said. “That’s one line we cannot cross. You saw what it did to Arthur.”

Abigail fell silent. She did know, first hand, what it had done to her dearest friend and mentor. It had brought the greatest of all Hunters down, casting a shadow over his entire legacy.

But, that was a small factor in the greater picture. No matter what he had done or what he had become, she was going to rescue him from the clutches of whatever hellspawn was holding him.

With or without Frieda’s help.

“Fine,” she lied. “I won’t look into it.”

“Good.”

“What does the Council want me to do?”

“We’ve had reports about unusual activity in the Smokey Mountains. Way out in Tennessee in the middle of nowhere. A small town called Raven’s Peak.”

“Raven’s Peak?”

“You’ve heard of it?” Frieda asked, surprised.

“No,” Abigail said, frowning. She didn’t know why, but she thought she might have heard the name before. Maybe someone had mentioned it a long time ago.

“It’s tiny, population less than three thousand. Not many have heard of it beyond the people who live there.”