Bloodfever
Page 50
I began restoring order to the store the next morning: sweeping, dusting, tossing broken baubles in the trash, and restocking books. Barrons had suggested I leave the shop closed, but I needed the store. Illusion was one salve, purpose and routine were another.
He hadnt broken my iPod and sound dock; thankfully Id had them safely tucked away in a cabinet beneath the register, so I listened to old Beach Boys music while I cleaned. I sang along to Sloop John B. at the top of my lungs: I want to go home. This is the worst trip Ive ever been on.
Every now and then, Id glance out the window at the blustery fall sky, and try to deal with the fact that while Id sunned with my pseudosister, summer had turned to fall overnightliterally; it was now October. I consoled myself with the thought that six hours of good sun was probably all Id have gotten in a month in Dublin anyway.
The store was nearly presentable by lunchtime, after which I turned my attention to the month of newspapers that had piled up in my absence, delivered but not sold. I gathered a couple of packing boxes and began tossing the dailies in to drag out to the trash later. After a few moments, I stopped pitching them, riveted by the headlines.
While Id been gone, Dublin had suffered an unprecedented hike in crime, and the media was crucifying the Garda over it. (On a personal note, I hoped that meant Inspector Jayne would be too busy with other cases to continue harassing me.) The incidence of unsolved muggings and rapes was up by sixty-four percent, and homicides by nearly one hundred and forty-two percent year-to-datebut that was only half the story the papers were telling: The brutality of the crimes had intensified as well.
I read paper after paper, digested one alarming news story after the next. These were no straightforward murders. They were vicious, sadistic killings, as if the darkest, most disturbed part of people was boiling to the surface and spilling over. Every few days, the headlines announced some new, shockingly more violent multiple-homicide-cum-suicide.
Was it possible that Unseelie walking among humanseven unseenwas changing people? Unlocking their ids? Unleashing the most depraved in us all?
What else had happened while Id been gone? I glanced uneasily to my right, as if I could somehow see through the wall to know if the cancerous Dark Zone had metastasized in my absence. If I went searching through maps, would I find more parts of the city missing?
This is awful, I told Barrons, later that night, as we got into the only nondescript vehicle he owned, the dark sedan wed used the night wed robbed Rocky OBannion. Have you seen the news lately?
He nodded.
And?
A great deal happened while you were gone, Ms. Lane. Perhaps it will make you think twice about spending time with Vlane.
I ignored the jibe.I called my dad today. He acted like wed just talked a few days ago.
I sent him a few e-mails from your laptop. He called once. I covered for you.
You hacked into my laptop? Thats personal! I was outraged. I was also glad hed kept my dad from worrying in my absence, and curious how hed gotten past my security measures. How?
He gave me a dry look. Your general password, Ms. Lane, was Alina. Your e-mail password was rainbow.
I huffed into the passenger seat. It was stiff and cold. There were no seat heaters. I preferred the Viper, or the Porsche or the Lamborghini or pretty much anything else, but it seemed anonymity was the name of the game tonight. Where are we going, Barrons? I asked irritably. For a change, he hadnt specified my clothing, and left to my own devices Id chosen jeans, a sweater, and boots, with a jacket.
An old abbey, Ms. Lane. A simple drive-by. No need to walk it. It wont take long, but its a few hours drive from the city.
What do you think might be there? Are we looking for something specific?
Just looking.
Was the abbey built on an ancient sidhe-seer site like the graveyard? Barrons did nothing without good reason. Something about the abbey made him think there might be an OOP there. I wanted to know what it was.
He shrugged.
Well, why arent we going to walk it?
Its occupied, Ms. Lane. I doubt they would welcome us.
Monks? I knew monasteries often had strict rules about permitting women on the grounds. Or nuns? Theyd take one look at Barrons and decide the devil himself had come knocking. He not only looked dangerous, he emanated something that made even me feel like crossing myself sometimes, and Im not religious. I see God in a sunrise, not in repetitious ritual. I went to a Catholic church oncesit, stand, kneel, kneel, stand, sitand got so stressed out trying to anticipate how next to position myself that Id missed most of what was being said.
He grunted noncommittally in that way that meant he was done answering my questions, so I might as well save my breath. I wondered what he thought we were going to accomplish with a mere drive-by at this mysterious abbey, considering how close I had to be to sense an OOP. That thought raised another very belated oneand I smacked myself in the forehead. I couldnt believe Id forgotten until now. Who came through the basement door that night in Wales, Barrons? He hadnt mentioned a thing about it.
From the immediate tension in his body I knew the memory was not a pleasant one. More bloody thieves.
He hadnt broken my iPod and sound dock; thankfully Id had them safely tucked away in a cabinet beneath the register, so I listened to old Beach Boys music while I cleaned. I sang along to Sloop John B. at the top of my lungs: I want to go home. This is the worst trip Ive ever been on.
Every now and then, Id glance out the window at the blustery fall sky, and try to deal with the fact that while Id sunned with my pseudosister, summer had turned to fall overnightliterally; it was now October. I consoled myself with the thought that six hours of good sun was probably all Id have gotten in a month in Dublin anyway.
The store was nearly presentable by lunchtime, after which I turned my attention to the month of newspapers that had piled up in my absence, delivered but not sold. I gathered a couple of packing boxes and began tossing the dailies in to drag out to the trash later. After a few moments, I stopped pitching them, riveted by the headlines.
While Id been gone, Dublin had suffered an unprecedented hike in crime, and the media was crucifying the Garda over it. (On a personal note, I hoped that meant Inspector Jayne would be too busy with other cases to continue harassing me.) The incidence of unsolved muggings and rapes was up by sixty-four percent, and homicides by nearly one hundred and forty-two percent year-to-datebut that was only half the story the papers were telling: The brutality of the crimes had intensified as well.
I read paper after paper, digested one alarming news story after the next. These were no straightforward murders. They were vicious, sadistic killings, as if the darkest, most disturbed part of people was boiling to the surface and spilling over. Every few days, the headlines announced some new, shockingly more violent multiple-homicide-cum-suicide.
Was it possible that Unseelie walking among humanseven unseenwas changing people? Unlocking their ids? Unleashing the most depraved in us all?
What else had happened while Id been gone? I glanced uneasily to my right, as if I could somehow see through the wall to know if the cancerous Dark Zone had metastasized in my absence. If I went searching through maps, would I find more parts of the city missing?
This is awful, I told Barrons, later that night, as we got into the only nondescript vehicle he owned, the dark sedan wed used the night wed robbed Rocky OBannion. Have you seen the news lately?
He nodded.
And?
A great deal happened while you were gone, Ms. Lane. Perhaps it will make you think twice about spending time with Vlane.
I ignored the jibe.I called my dad today. He acted like wed just talked a few days ago.
I sent him a few e-mails from your laptop. He called once. I covered for you.
You hacked into my laptop? Thats personal! I was outraged. I was also glad hed kept my dad from worrying in my absence, and curious how hed gotten past my security measures. How?
He gave me a dry look. Your general password, Ms. Lane, was Alina. Your e-mail password was rainbow.
I huffed into the passenger seat. It was stiff and cold. There were no seat heaters. I preferred the Viper, or the Porsche or the Lamborghini or pretty much anything else, but it seemed anonymity was the name of the game tonight. Where are we going, Barrons? I asked irritably. For a change, he hadnt specified my clothing, and left to my own devices Id chosen jeans, a sweater, and boots, with a jacket.
An old abbey, Ms. Lane. A simple drive-by. No need to walk it. It wont take long, but its a few hours drive from the city.
What do you think might be there? Are we looking for something specific?
Just looking.
Was the abbey built on an ancient sidhe-seer site like the graveyard? Barrons did nothing without good reason. Something about the abbey made him think there might be an OOP there. I wanted to know what it was.
He shrugged.
Well, why arent we going to walk it?
Its occupied, Ms. Lane. I doubt they would welcome us.
Monks? I knew monasteries often had strict rules about permitting women on the grounds. Or nuns? Theyd take one look at Barrons and decide the devil himself had come knocking. He not only looked dangerous, he emanated something that made even me feel like crossing myself sometimes, and Im not religious. I see God in a sunrise, not in repetitious ritual. I went to a Catholic church oncesit, stand, kneel, kneel, stand, sitand got so stressed out trying to anticipate how next to position myself that Id missed most of what was being said.
He grunted noncommittally in that way that meant he was done answering my questions, so I might as well save my breath. I wondered what he thought we were going to accomplish with a mere drive-by at this mysterious abbey, considering how close I had to be to sense an OOP. That thought raised another very belated oneand I smacked myself in the forehead. I couldnt believe Id forgotten until now. Who came through the basement door that night in Wales, Barrons? He hadnt mentioned a thing about it.
From the immediate tension in his body I knew the memory was not a pleasant one. More bloody thieves.
