Personal Demon

Page 62

 
 
Security spotlights lit up the house, but most of the yard was dim and shadowy, and the perimeter black. It was still so quiet I could hear the waves.
Karl stuck to the dark edges. He had me walk beside him—on the fence side, where presumably he thought it was safer, but was also tough for anyone not blessed with a werewolf’s night vision. I switched my chaos sensors on full.
As we passed between the fence and a small stuccoed outbuilding, Karl tugged me closer and I snapped from my reverie. Before I could reorient myself, a blinding light made me stumble back.
“For Christ’s sake, Nico, do you mind?”
A flash of darkness as the man shielded his eyes against the light. But it moved closer, a halogen beam, so bright that the figure holding it was only an outline.
“Can I get a little privacy here? I’m taking a—”
 
The pffttt of a silenced shot.
I reeled, the vision fading. Karl gripped my forearms to hold me steady. I tugged free and followed the vibes to the outbuilding.
He caught up in two long strides, and I braced myself to be pulled back, but he only took my arm and whispered, “Gun?”
I thought he was asking about the vision—what kind of gun the man had. A testament to how tired I was, I guess. After a moment I realized he meant, “Do you have your gun and if so, get it out.”
When I did, he motioned for me to head around the building one way while he went the other.
I hugged the wall. I could sense Karl behind me, watching to make sure I was alert enough to do this. Once reassured, a soft crunch of undergrowth told me he was moving, then all went silent.
I made it around the first corner before the vision hit again. It was the same scene from the same angle. I bit back my frustration. There had to be a way to train myself to at least change the viewing angle. Another reason why I’d love to speak to another Expisco.
Three more steps brought me to the next corner. The main house was fifty feet ahead, but I tried to ignore it and concentrate on this building. Presumably the door was on the next wall. I stopped, listened. I could feel only low-level chaos, which might be coming from Karl.
When I reached him, he had the door cracked open, face against the gap, sniffing. When he looked at me, I knew what I’d seen wasn’t some random or past vision. Someone had been shot inside.
“Will you wait?” he whispered.
I shook my head. The low strum of chaos rose to a steady beat. I touched his arm and lifted my lips up to his ear.
“I’ll see it anyway, whether I go in or not.”
His chin dipped in a nod and that drum of chaos subsided.
He opened the door and stepped into the dark room, his head up, nose working. I could make out a dinette table and chairs, a small fridge and microwave, a sofa and a bank of maybe a half-dozen lockers. A staff lounge for the guards.
Karl’s gaze moved to a closed door. Light shone under it.
“Stay right—” He bit the words off, chewed them over, then said, “Cover me.”
I followed, gun ready, as he stopped outside the door, head tilted to listen as his nostrils flared. He turned the handle, then threw open the door.
A figure sat on the toilet, and my first impulse was to back out, apologizing. Then I saw the blood.
The man was slumped against the back of the toilet, mouth open. Male and under forty were the only characteristics I noticed, and not because of the extent of his injuries, but because I couldn’t tear my gaze from those injuries long enough to notice anything else.
He’d been shot twice in the face, at close range. The first bullet had shattered his cheek. The second left his nose a mangled flap of gore, dripping blood.
I remembered the blinding flashlight beam and the shot. Had he seen death coming? Had he felt the bullet?
Had he suffered at all? I hoped not, but somewhere from within me came an altogether different wish, not that the man suffered horribly, but that maybe, just a little spark of something, a flare of chaos that I could—
I swallowed hard and rubbed my hands over my face.
“It must be—” I whispered. “One of the guards. Paige said—”
The man’s eyes opened. I fell back with a yelp.
Karl hauled me toward the door.
“What are you—?” I began. “He’s alive. We have to—”
My words came out shrill and jumbled. I fumbled for my phone, but my fingers were shaking so badly I dropped it. As I wrenched against Karl’s grasp, the man gave a low moan. My gaze flew to his.
His eyes were so blank and empty, I was certain that groan had been his last, that I hadn’t reacted fast enough, that I should have—
His lips parted, a bloody froth bubbled and I stared, transfixed.
“He’s gone, Hope.”
“Gone? Are you crazy?” I tried to pull away. “He’s alive. Can’t you see?”
I wrenched around, saw those blank eyes and knew Karl was right. Not a lick of chaos emanated from the man—no fear, no pain, just emptiness. But I kept struggling to get to him, because there was the off-chance I was wrong and I would not walk away. The impulse to help was still there, not yet buried under that lust for chaos, and I clung to it with everything I had.
 
Karl pulled me to the door. I could see him talking, but his words floated past unheard. Then came two that didn’t: Paige and Lucas.
I reached for my phone. “We have to call—”
He took the phone, stuffed it into my pocket and caught my hands when I went for it again.
“You won’t stop me from warning them, Karl. I won’t let—”
His grip went tight enough to hurt now, face coming down to mine.
“That guard is still bleeding, Hope. That means he was just shot, and whoever shot him was taking him out before going after Benicio—before heading into the house.”
“Which is why we have to warn—”
“And set off Paige’s cell phone? Yes, we have to warn them. But not that way.”
He scooped up my gun, which I hadn’t even realized I no longer held. When I reached for it, he held it just out of reach. His gaze searched mine then, without a word, he handed it back and we hurried from the building.
 
LUCAS: 8
 
 
I TOLD MYSELF I was overreacting. Laughed as I imagined what I looked like, slinking through the shadows under cover of a blur spell.