But that neat, quaint brick building? It looked like the house of someone's grandmother. Cookies and milk, not electroshock and straitjackets. "You're kidding. Tell me you're kidding," I demanded.
He wasn't kidding. Where Columbia now stood had once been the New York Lunatic Asylum, renamed the Bloomingdale Insane Asylum years later. From 1808 to 1894, it had stood before moving to the New York Hospital in White Plains.
Frigging fascinating.
It wasn't creepy enough that the revenants were ravaging the campus; they and Sawney were also roaming the underremnants of an insane asylum from the eighteen hundreds. In addition to Buell Hall, there was the asylum tunnel system, once used for steam or coal transport, that ran beneath the campus. Tunnel upon tunnel. It would be perfect for getting around the place and popping up like a hellish jack-in-the-box without being seen in transit.
It was the perfect cave.
"It was said to have been quite a beautiful sight in its day. Lovely grounds," Niko said as we walked. I wasn't sure if he was yanking my chain or not, but either way, I didn't bother to hide a shudder.
"Yeah, beautiful. Jesus." Nothing like a brisk walk around the asylum with the loonies to get your day going.
Gray eyes gleamed at my discomfort. "Too many horror movies when you were young have warped your view of the mental health system."
Right. Scary movies when I was a kid, that was the problem. Not that the Auphe as a race were raving homicidal maniacs or that Sawney kept on like I was a lunatic-flavored lollipop. That had nothing to do with it. "So we can get into the tunnels there—at Buell Hall."
"Presumably."
It was getting colder and I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket. Zipping it up wasn't an option, not if I wanted easy access to my holster. "And if we go down there and find his nightmare ass, what then? We haven't had too much luck so far. Guns don't work. Swords don't work. Hell, boggles don't work. Where does that leave us?"
"I've been thinking about that. Extensively." The last of the leaves were beginning to fall in the park and Nik caught one that wafted down in front of him. He turned it over with long, sinewy fingers, then held it up. "What color is it?"
"Red, I guess," I said, having no idea where he was going with this. "With some orange."
"No." He held it up and admired it before letting it drift away. "It's the color of fire."
I got it then. "And Sawney's no fan of fire."
"No. Being burned at the stake will tend to do that." Niko didn't seem too sympathetic. "All we need to do is recreate that."
"Without the army they had the first time," I reminded him.
" 'Weary the path that does not challenge,' " he quoted. "Hosea Ballou."
" 'I like things easy,' " I countered. "Me. Want to write it down? I can repeat it."
"That won't be necessary. After twenty years, I do believe I have it." He tugged at my ponytail. "I have an idea. One I'm surprised you haven't thought of, but we'll discuss it later."
I looked at him warily. "What are we going to discuss now?"
"I want to talk to you about Delilah and the nymph and the others who'll come after them," he answered, giving one last tug on my hair as the teasing humor faded from his eyes.
All right, I knew we'd had this particular talk with added stick-Auphe figure illustrations when I was ten. Here's Cal. Here's a girl. Here's their flesh-gnawing baby eating the neighbor's dog. I didn't believe Niko was setting up for a repeat performance. I was right.
"You have to be careful." The wind blew at his hair, but it was tightly secured and it barely ruffled.
"You know I am." If anyone knew that, it was Nik. If anyone knew what I'd given up to be careful, it was him…and George.
"That's not what I mean. I know how cautious you are in that respect. I know how much you've given up." There was a strong grip on my shoulder. "I'm talking about the Auphe. They are out there. We haven't seen them in months, but they will be back. There is no escaping that. You need to watch yourself…if I can't be there to do it for you."
There it was, his concern, and it was a valid one. I was on my own more now than I'd been just a year ago. In the past, I was either with my brother or with Robin. Now on occasion I was with those who didn't have the same loyalty to me as my brother, Promise, and Goodfellow did. Would they have my back like those three if the Auphe came for me?
"I'm growing up, Mom." I curled my lips and gave him a light punch. "It was bound to happen."
He stopped walking, but the leaves kept falling. "You're my brother, Cal. You're my family. You are my only true family. Do not leave me out of stupidity or carelessness." Then, as I turned to face him, he said something I only very rarely heard from him. "Please."
The last time he'd made that request he'd shaken me nearly senseless. He'd been furious, and behind that fury had been concern. This time the situation was less urgent, but the concern was the same.
He had raised me. My brother. I wouldn't insult him by calling him mother or father, not after the ones I'd had, but he'd filled the roles. Brought up my ass and kicked it when it needed it. Truthfully, he hadn't kicked it quite as often as it needed it. He was tough, but he knew what my life was. And what it wasn't—what it could never be. Normal. He'd cut me slack, more than I deserved. I was alive because of him. More importantly, I was sane because of him—no Bloomingdale Insane Asylum for me. Without Niko, I couldn't have said that with such absolute faith.
"I'll be careful. I promise." I said it with that same faith and I meant it. For Nik, there wasn't much I wouldn't do. Shit, there wasn't anything I wouldn't do.
"Good." He walked on, the leaves seeming to drift with him. "I'm glad banging your head against a trailer wasn't necessary this time."
"You're all about the love, Cyrano. Don't let anyone tell you different." I grinned.
Boggle, it turned out, disagreed with that.
Strongly disagreed.
It took a while to cross the park and through the particular grouping of trees to arrive at the clearing that held Boggle's home. The boglets were in the trees all around us. Their orange eyes blended in with the last of the leaves. Their muddy hides were also good camouflage against the bark of limbs and trunks. They were completely quiet, the only sound the occasional flake of mud tumbling down to the ground, and only Niko was ninja enough to hear something like that.
But at least I spotted the eyes and smelled them. That saved me a punishing swat and fifteen blocks extended onto our daily run. "What are they doing?" I asked quietly.
"Guarding their mother," he answered as softly, not bothering to look up at them or draw his katana. I had the odd feeling he didn't want to insult them by "spotting" them. "They're honorable children."
He was right, in both respects. When we reached the mud at the edge of the water, they flowed, after leaping from tree to tree, down the trees to surround us. Still in silence, they stalked back and forth, keeping between us and the pit. "We apologize," Niko said, raising his voice this time, "for the harm done to your mother."
The silence ended and the growling started. A pack of gators with longer legs and arms, more agile, smarter, and far more pissed off than your average swamp dweller. "I don't think they accept." I pulled the Eagle. "And you sounded really sincere to me."
I didn't blame them for being less than forgiving. I didn't think boggles loved or liked or had any emotions besides "hungry now" and "bright-shiny." But even without what we might consider affection, Boggle had raised her children, fed them, kept them alive. As boggles went, I thought she probably qualified as a good mom. And we'd sent her back to them skinned alive. If someone had done that to my family, done that to Niko, inadvertently or not, I wouldn't have been too goddamn happy myself.