It was nearly ten thirty and my stomach was putting up quite a fuss over missed meals. I ordered food and drank more coffee. I thought about Gwen. Her Grey presence was almost nil; she left barely a ripple and affected me not at all. Was that what Carlos had meant? Would Cameron fade down to the same sad shadow, a memory that remained only because it hadn't yet forgotten itself?
I sighed. She hadn't been as useless as she thought, at least. Gwen was an instance of bad mentorship, too—foolish risks to the community. And she had confirmed Edward's connection to TPM back when the company was young. How deep was he into TPM's structure and how much of TPM's wealth and influence were wielded at Edward's discretion? I feared that answer as much as I needed it.
After dinner, I wasted some of my time with an undead gentleman in Fremont. I left him angry at Edward, but gained nothing directly. As I was leaving, a different and familiar sense of disquiet brushed my back. Hot and cold. I let my senses sink toward it, watching the world become hazy with the shadows of the Grey. I turned, searching.
Alice was standing in the doorway I'd just exited.
"Hard at work?"
"Hard enough," I answered, holding down a quiver of revulsion as the fever-flash heat and chill of her overt sensuality crawled over me.
She glowered. "Not quite." I felt her pressure on me increase and her voice seemed to ring deeper. "You need to move more directly against him. You should be attacking, not nibbling around the edges like a mouse."
I pushed back against Alice's demands and felt them crumble away into the cloud-swirl between us. I smothered my relief and felt sweat on my skin, panting as if I'd just done a sprint from standing.
"No. A direct attack is not what I agreed to and I'm not going to march up to Edward and make myself a target just to make you happy."
The red corona around her flared into a spire of rage. Her hands crooked into claws. "You think you can defy me? I can remove you with a flick of my hand."
I locked down a shudder. "What good does that do you, Alice? You just mop up Edward's problem without him raising a finger. He's not going to thank you for it. As long as I'm out here, Edward's got trouble, but if you really want him to hurt, you'll have to get a little dirty. Fan flames, spread rumors. That's your part of the job. Remember? If things aren't going to plan, it's not because of me."
She settled a little. "Don't overstep yourself. Lack of forgiveness is a trait Edward and I share."
"I'm not so forgiving myself. And I don't appreciate being attacked by undead thugs or having my place tossed."
She narrowed her eyes and my breath went cold. "What? You think I had anything to do with that?" She laughed flaming shards of ice through my skin. "You're not worth the expense."
"Then maybe it's Edward. If he's onto me, he'll be onto you next. You need to start covering both our backs, as you promised, or you won't have much chance to put your plans into action."
Alice glared in silence, thinking.
I took my time, breathing with care to avoid the lump of ice in my throat. "Alice, you know that if Edward thinks I'm the only source of his troubles, he'll swat me and then you'll have no opportunity to move. So let's just get on with it. You'll get your chance."
"I had best to." Alice faded back into the doorway, vanishing into the dark.
It would have been more dramatic if I couldn't see her slipping through the Grey. And that confused me. Because, if Alice didn't know what I could do or see, why had she been tailing me so long?
I shook my head, turned my back, and started walking again, looking at the list. There was only one name left, added in Alice's unpleasant purple ink.
Chapter 25
Part of the corrupt charm of big cities is their acceptance of the wacky, weird, and outrageous within business as usual. But I doubt there were many other venues that hosted something as unpredictable as Radio Freeform. Format varied wildly from minute to minute; you could be scratching along with an old Bill Broonzy blues tune and smash into a cut from Lunchbox next. Your brain and ears might feel assaulted, but it would hold together. Wygan, the overnight man, had a deft touch with the mix. It was his name Alice had inked at the bottom of the list.
Late-night DJ was a pretty good gig for a vampire, I thought, and a well-known local voice wasn't likely to attack me. I drove to the row of red and white broadcasting towers on top of Queen Anne Hill and parked in the small, deserted lot outside the tiny building. I was glad that this phase of the project was nearly over. I was tired, felt low-level ill and ready to call it quits, no matter how much Alice threatened. I was a little jittery from her threats and too much caffeine, but I figured this one would be easy. Nothing could be as bad as Carlos.
Beside the steel security door was an intercom with a switch. I pushed it. A cautious voice answered. "'Ello?"
I leaned toward the box and spoke. "Hi. My name is Harper Blaine. I'm a private investigator. Alice Liddell told me to contact Wygan. Can I talk to him?"
I heard a guffaw. "Alice sent you to me?" I recognized the soft slurring of Wygan's working-class English accent. "Sure. Why not? Hang on. I'll buzz you through. Just us chickens here tonight." The low electronic burring of the latch cut off any reply.
The corridor beyond the door was painted industrial green. The lighting was poor enough to make the dirt on the linoleum look like a pattern instead of bad housekeeping. I closed the door behind me and walked. The booth was a beacon of red light pouring through Lexan. I wondered why it was red.
I hadn't reached the booth's door before I began feeling queasy. It might have been the way the light strobed and switched to amber, but I was afraid I'd underestimated my mental and physical exhaustion. The Grey was flickering in the corners of my eyes. When I reached it, the door was open a crack and the moans of unhappy electronic instruments leaked out. I peered through the window beside the door.
A lanky, pale man waved at me. "Come on in. Mic's not live."
I stepped in. "You're Wygan?"
Leaning back in his fully gimbaled leather chair, the bony young man shot his arms straight into the air above his blond electroshock hair. "I am the eggman, I am the walrus! Goo goo g'joob!" he caroled. "Alice sent you?"
"Yeah, but I'm really here on behalf of Cameron Shadley." I looked around, trying to hold on to normal. I grasped at the first thing. "What's with the lights?"
"Keeps a certain creature away from me. He doesn't like the changing colors." He peered at me, snickering, as if he was just waiting for the punch line.
I couldn't imagine what would want to come in here. The booth was small and lined floor to ceiling with automated CD racks behind smoked-glass doors. A homemade stand in one corner had three light bulbs arranged across the top of it: red, blue, and amber. They alternated at a slow pace. A narrow strip of white light ran over the top of the horseshoe-shaped control console, which was heavy with switches, sliders, dials, and keyboards as well as several video monitors. One of the monitors was showing old, mute episodes of Lost in Space. Various meters and LED displays flashed or flickered silent information. Every shadow writhed.
"Close the door, would you, love?" he asked, flipping switches. "What good's a soundproof booth with the door standing open, hmm?"
I closed the door and remained standing. I tried to hold it back, but the steamed-mirror world battered against me as I got closer to him.
"You should sit down." He grinned at me, teeth snaggled, yellow, canines pronounced and elongated. His smile was a poleax, and my knees buckled. I thumped down into an empty chair, aware of shadows pooling thicker, like oozing tar, in the corners of the room, exuding a low reek of antiquity and decay. It was an ancient and foul corner of the cold blackness I'd fallen into when I touched Cameron. My stomach flipped and tried to stretch itself around my spine. A thin halo of blue and red wavered around Wygan's head.