“It’s our guy!” Cole said.
“Maybe,” I said. “Nothing says he can’t have accomplices on the team. Any group that put together one backup plan probably made room for a couple more. Still.”
I nodded to Bergman and he activated the bug, giving it the signal to transfer from Ruvin to the mysterious man who’d threatened him.
Vayl held up a hand. “They are moving.” Only he could’ve heard the slide of clothes on the Jeep’s leather interior as Ruvin exited the vehicle. But even the humans in the group couldn’t mistake the familiar grunt and smack of a body hitting the asphalt.
“Clumsy you, falling down on the job,” said the guy, the silky concern in his voice making me shiver with rising rage. “Here, let me help you up.” Another grunt and a moan as the guy yanked Ruvin to his feet.
I could hear tears in the little man’s voice as he said, “Wotthehell? I haven’t said I won’t cooperate!”
“You’d better, or the gnomes will boil your kids and have them for appetizers while your wife slowly roasts in a hole they’ve already dug for her.”
I swallowed, hoping Ruvin would realize the threat wasn’t all bluster. Gnomes didn’t regularly stoop to cannibalism. But on special occasions they’d been known to munch a little long pork, especially around planting and harvest time. They stayed away from humans, a move my old Underground Creatures professor had shrugged off to fear of our massive military might. Possibly. Or maybe the Whence delivered its own brand of justice, which tolerated the gnomes’ inclinations as long as they didn’t piss off the wrong people.
Ruvin began to breathe so heavily I wondered if he was going to hyperventilate. “Y-you! D-don’t hurt my family! I’ll do anything you want. Just leave them alone!” His tormenter laughed. “You’d better make good on that promise,” he said. “Because the gnomes have chosen you to be the midwife for their larvae’s birth. So you’re going into the Space Complex with me tomorrow. And after the larvae have arrived safely, your family will be released.” Ruvin moaned. Which told me he knew what many others didn’t. That gnome midwives weren’t the nominally respected birth-helpers Americans sometimes used in place of doctors. They were the death-row inmates who’d lost every last appeal. Because the larvae would burst from their carrier starving for living flesh. And unless someone saved him, Ruvin’s would be the sustaining meat that gave them the energy they needed to destroy Canberra Deep Space Complex.
The gnomes would probably keep his family alive until the larvae ate him. But after, who knew? Once I’d have bet my own life on their safety, but this new shaman had flipped all the old traditions sideways.
Which was why we were here in the first place.
Who is this shaman? I wondered, wishing we at least had a picture to study. And why do they follow him? Are they really that hard up for answers that they’ll swallow any line a dude throws out there just because he swears it came from their deity?
No comment from Granny May, which meant Brude must be stomping around my subconscious again.
Before I could take inner stock Ruvin said, “Promise. Promise me they’ll be okay.”
“Of course. You cooperate and your family will be just fine.” Deep, ragged breath. “Then I’ll help. But I have other jobs waiting. If I don’t show, they’ll call my dispatcher, who’ll call the cops, because I never miss an appointment.”
“Just make sure you’re at my front door at two a.m. Or your family dies.”
“I’ll be there, Mr. Barnes.”
Aha! Our hearse driver had just been accosted by the vice president of Odeam Digital Security.
I wished I knew what that signaled for the other four members of the Odeam team. Two of them were software engineers named Johnson and Tykes. One was a marketing exec they called Pit, and Barnes had brought his executive assistant/mistress, Bindy LaRule.
But Barnes didn’t reveal any more details of his plan. All we heard were car doors opening and closing, the engine starting, and chilly silence for what would be at least a forty-minute journey.
“Now is the time,” said Vayl. He glanced at his watch. “It is nearly eight p.m. We have the benefit of darkness and plenty of time in which to work. Shall we meet back here in an hour?” Raoul nodded. “We’ll be done by then. Here, this should help if the demon returns before us.” He handed me his sword, which made my arm dip so fast I hoped he never asked me to spar with the thing.
I’d last for maybe thirty seconds before my elbow joint would completely unhinge and I’d be left with a dangly appendage that would force me to jerk my whole body in a semicircle just to slap somebody in the face!
I made myself smile. “Gee, thanks. What would you say the chances are of me needing to use this thing before you get back?”
“Minuscule.” He nodded once, confidence showing even in the way the shine of his boots reflected the patio light. “She won’t want to face you a second time without assuring herself a massacre-style win.
That requires planning. And, as I told you before, her kind can’t rise without being called. So she’ll have to partner with another demon who’s fulfilling contractual obligations. Between that and the fact that her kind are notoriously bad teammates, an hour is the least amount of time we have to spare.” I nodded, glancing toward Cassandra. I’d seen her bear up to an awful lot of strain, including Dave’s temporary demise. Which was why I wasn’t surprised to find her shoulder deep in her furbag, mumbling to herself about that ancient tome she’d just been reading that might help. When she stuck her head in the purse too, I realized we should probably have a talk about accessories. It’s fine to take the possible loss of your soul in stride. But when your pocketbook is big enough to hold all your necessities and half your torso, it may be time for an intervention.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Our next order of business required a quick change and, as usual, I made it in and out of the closet first.
Which meant I spent a good five minutes in the bland little living room trying to restore some order to a place that would not be the same without major remodeling. Because the floor where Vayl and Kyphas had battled felt like a freshly tilled field under my feet. It was still wet, but water hadn’t caused all the warping. I crouched, running my fingers along furrows so deep I could almost hear the wood screaming in protest against the violent infusion of power that had curved it at such impossible angles.
“Pete is going to be so pissed,” I whispered, trying to calculate the cost of a new floor and, oh yeah, a replacement door. I picked the old one up and muscled it into the opening, leaning it against the frame as I tried to see where all the glass from the broken window had gone. Nothing had crunched under my feet while I’d assessed damages, so I pulled a mop out of the utility room that sat just off the kitchen and gave the floor a once-over, only then realizing the glass must’ve melted from the heat of the boomerang attack fusing with our holy defenses. One good thing about the cleanup—I discovered I had full range of motion in my Lucille Robinson getup.
Usually I dig the costumes I get to wear in the line of duty. Okay, there was that belly-dancing outfit that had made me want to find a small room where I could scream without triggering a 911 call. But otherwise, no complaints. Not even now that I’d kicked it into Hollywood producer mode.
Most people don’t logic it out that these types dress like regular folks. They want glitz right down to the caterers. So when we use this cover, we give it to them. I wore midnight-blue pants containing just enough spandex to make me feel like I should hop on a treadmill as soon as we’d completed this leg of the mission. The wide satin belt held in the tails of a white tuxedo shirt, the ruffles of which peeked out from under my leather jacket. Bowing to practicality, I still kept Grief strapped into its shoulder holster, and I’d slipped on a pair of low-heeled black boots conducive to running and kicking, not necessarily in that order. My concession to the cover had been to choose a pair with pointy toes that, had they curled, would’ve qualified me to work on the set of The Wizard of Oz.