"You think so?"
"She wasn't evil incarnate. She was just a woman in love who had her pride hurt bad enough that she showed poor judgment. Before the cops took her away, she was already crying for her loss, wishing she hadn't done it."
"So…" He trailed off, then regrouped. "If what you're saying is that you only get that awful way when something truly evil is happening, then that means…"
Gaby glanced back at him.
He swallowed audibly. "Whatever that was after Luther was—"
"The basest of evils. A true depravity."
"Like…" Eyes wide, he whispered, "The devil or something?"
"Worse. A demonic being here on earth." Thanks to the broken pipe, Gaby's arm started a steady ache.
"Then Luther is in real trouble."
"Yeah, I think so. But I'll look out for him."
"How?" Mort practically screeched. "You can't be with him every minute. You can't stand guard over him. Luther isn't the type of man who'd ever allow it, but he's also not a man to believe in—"
"Bogeymen? He's learning."
"He's my friend, Gaby," Mort said with grave depression. "I don't want anything to happen to him."
"Nothing will," Gaby vowed, both to Mort and to herself. "Like I told you, if something really bad comes after him, I'll know and I'll… go to him. Wherever he is. And no, don't ask me how. That's just how it works."
"You instinctively know where to go?"
"Sort of. Somehow, I just get there."
Given the silence, Gaby knew Mort didn't understand, and was starting to ponder her sanity again.
"Look. It's like this. Information gets channeled through me. My body is just a conduit for the purpose. I end up where I need to be, and I do what needs to be done, and then I'm me again. End of story."
"I trust you."
He was such a dupe. "Great. Now take a deep breath. We'll be home soon," she reassured Mort, because she didn't dare reassure herself. "You'll be able to relax then."
"After tonight, I don't think I'll ever relax again."
His voice no sooner faded than they heard an odd but human sound. Flattening back against the wall, her hand already over Mort's mouth, Gaby waited.
A whimper.
Slurping. Silent tears.
Rank commands and foul enjoyment.
She heard it all, and she understood.
Rage, not God's command, stirred her blood. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared through the abyss. "Stay here, Mort."
"Gaby, no, please." Mort's hands grasped at her shirt. "You don't know who it is, if it might be the cops or another of those crazy people—"
"Get a grip," she hissed at Mort, impatient to intercede. "I'll be right back." She brushed him off and crept away, her knife in her hand, the injury in her arm forgotten. Up ahead, a dim glow shone from one building.
The end of the alley.
They'd be close to home, but she had work to do yet. No, God hadn't called her for this one.
But damn it, He should have.
As Gaby stepped into the light, she saw a couple at the edge of the alley, in the shadows, but not really hidden. The woman knelt on the rough ground, her blouse mostly torn off, her face and upper arms red, scratched, and bruised.
She was held captive close to the man's body, her face shoved against his belly. Her cheeks hollowed out, her head bobbed.
She sobbed again.
As Gaby took in the scene, the man closed his eyes in release.
Moaning in what Gaby interpreted as harsh pleasure, his body jerked obscenely. The woman tried to pull back, but he cruelly twisted his hand in her ponytail, using the hold like a leash, forcing her to perform on him.
To swallow.
The sight of it all, her comprehension, froze Gaby to the spot.
The man slumped against the wall, his body lax. Released, the woman quickly scampered back.
Tears tracked her cheeks. Her nose bled.
Torn from her stupor, Gaby didn't even stop to think about it; she allowed herself to react.
In an instant, her knife whistled through the air—and sank with satisfying accuracy into the bastard's shoulder.
He contorted on a yelp of surprise, followed by a shout of outrage. He looked at the girl on her knees first, and seeing she wasn't a threat, his gaze swung around until he found Gaby striding toward him. She wasn't done with him, not by a long shot, and he must have sensed that.
Ignoring her knife in his flesh, he tried to charge her.
Good. Even though he was a miserable bully and rapist, he had strength and he wasn't a coward.
She wanted a fight. She wanted this fight.
It felt right. It felt purposeful.
For this, she could almost smile.
"That's right," Gaby taunted. "Tangle with someone who isn't cowed by you."
"Stupid bitch," he thundered. "You'll be damn sorry you—"
He was in midthreat when Gaby's heel connected with his chin. When his head snapped back, her elbow jammed into his throat. As he gurgled and gagged, she retrieved her knife, sliding it out of his dense flesh to press it tight, tight enough to cut, where he'd feel it most.
The girl screamed, scrambling backward on hands and heels like a tipsy crab.
Mort rushed out of the alley. "Gaby!"
With so much fanfare, she wouldn't have been surprised if a spotlight had suddenly shone down on her wretched head.
Face close to the man's, her fist keeping the knife blade snug against his groin. Gaby whispered, "You deserve to lose this, don't you?" She pressed in enough to nick him, making certain he understood.
"You're insane," he garbled, still suffering from the trauma to his throat.
"You betcha. Insane enough that I'll haunt your dreams for the rest of your life."
He looked into her eyes and shriveled back in fear.
His impaired esophagus made him gasp for each shallow breath. Distress for his precious jewels kept his eyes wide and wild. Drool trickled from the side of his trembling mouth.
Gaby enjoyed his reaction.
She enjoyed herself in this role.
"I'll know what you do," she told him. "What you think and what you want. If you ever again use force on anyone or anything, I swear to God, I'll castrate you."
The man prayed, which amused Gaby. God wouldn't help him. Not tonight.
But then Mort grabbed her arm. "Gaby, please. You cut him bad and he's bleeding. He could die."
A fog lifted, and Gaby became aware of everything.
The sobs of the man, the worst sobs of the girl, Mort's palpitating fear.
"He deserves death." But she jerked her knife away from him.
It was really bloody now. And so was she.
"Maybe he does," Mort said, "but you don't deserve his death on your hands."
Gaby caught her breath. Mort had stopped her for her sake?
The man crumpled to the ground, drenched in a combination of sweat, blood, and more disgusting body fluids.
Foul bastard.
Repulsed, Gaby turned to look at the girl.
Homely little thing, with ruined makeup smeared everywhere and a red, snotty nose. "How old are you?"
Her lips quivered. "Twenty."
"Liar." She looked to be in her midteens, maybe seventeen on a stretch. "Go home."
"I… I can't."
Of course not. If she could, she wouldn't be here now, tonight, in this hopeless place. The futility of it all settled in once again, evaporating the elation of triumph. "Then at least get away from here."
The girl nodded, lumbered to her feet and wiped her mouth. More tears leaked out. She pushed hair away from her bruised and dirty face. "Thank you so much."
Fingers curling around her knife hilt, Gaby snarled, "I was too late. He'd already used you."
"No." She shook her head. "You wasn't too late. He wasn't done with me. He would have… he woulda done more. Worse stuff. He told me so. So, thank you."