Grave Dance Part 25

By "boys" he meant cops. I had a bit of a reputation at the station, so I let John have the laugh at my expense. I knew the next thing he would say would be on a more somber note.

"So tell me what you did to p.i.s.s off the FIB. It has to be more than trespa.s.sing on the crime scene. The warrant is sealed. All anyone around here knows is that you are to be detained and turned over to the FIB."

"It's bulls.h.i.+t. The reason they're after me is tied in with the fact that I can see through glamour." Which was true-it was just that the reason I could see through glamour was because I could peer across realities. I wasn't going to share that detail with anyone, though, not even John. Folklore was full of stories about mortals being struck blind because they could see through glamour, so my ability to See was reason enough for John to believe the FIB would take an interest. "And, John, their timing sucks."

I told him an abbreviated version of Holly's kidnapping, the most recent construct attack, and the meeting at the bridge tonight. I left out the bits about independent fae getting spirited away to Faerie, the constructs being fueled by souls, and my theories involving the reaper.

"d.a.m.n," John whispered when I finished. He and Holly weren't terribly close friends, but as an a.s.sistant district attorney and a homicide detective, they had worked more than a few cases together.

"So what do I do?"

"You need to file a missing-person report. As there's a ransom note, it's clearly an abduction." He paused. "Actually, let me take care of that. You can't walk into a station while the FIB is looking for you." His chair squeaked again and I could tell he was pacing. Well, so was I. After a moment he said, "The detectives in charge of missing-persons inquiries will cast a tracking spell, though I have to warn you that most kidnappers are smart enough to hide victims behind wards, so there probably won't be a quick solution. The detectives in charge will also likely try to make contact with the kidnapper. That will probably be hard since you're in hiding, but they will try to buy time and get the kidnapper's demands."

"We already know what they want."

"Alex, you can't go to that bridge. This isn't a money drop that can be done quietly and hope for the best. Whoever this is wants you for her, and it's not like you've had any confirmation she's even still alive."

My throat tightened. "She's been gone less than a day." "I know," he said, and his voice had that raw sound people get when they don't have the right words. "This is not my type of investigation. If I get handed this case, something has gone very, very wrong."

Considering that John worked homicide, I couldn't agree more.

We were both silent for a moment, the only sound the static buzzing as the house wards interfered with my cell signal.

"You're going to go, aren't you?" he finally asked.

"Yeah."

His heavy sigh carried through the phone. "I'll make some calls, see if I can get you some backup on that bridge at the very least. But, Al, if this goes down, I can almost guarantee the cavalry that swoops in to the rescue will also arrest you."

I sank down onto the bed. "Yeah. I know."

There was really nothing left to say after that. He disconnected with a promise to get back to me and a warning to be careful. I checked the time. Nine thirty. I had four hours before I needed to leave to reach the bridge at two. Well, I can always get some sleep. Rest could only help. I set my phone alarm for midnight. Then I collapsed on the bed, settling in for what I was afraid might be the last bit of rest I managed to s.n.a.t.c.h for a while.

By the time I woke, my eyes had recovered and my psychic vision had faded until the other planes were visible only as ignorable washes of color. At twelve thirty I called for a taxi. I didn't have any more cash, but I had my bank card. It would leave an electronic trail I didn't want, but it wasn't like the cops didn't know where I was headed. John had sent two text messages while I slept. The first said missing persons had no hits with the tracking spell and the second said we were set for two.

I'd already taken a shower-and I'd been shocked to find my clothes clean and folded and my boots buffed when I got out-but I still wasn't fully awake, so I headed for the kitchen while I waited for the car to arrive. I was on the hunt for coffee when a cabinet door smashed open behind me.

"Outta there. Outta there," Osier yelled, charging out from under the sink. He swatted my calf with his spoon hard enough to sting through the thick leather of my boots. "My kitchen."

I jumped back. "I was looking for coffee."

"Little girls shouldn't drink coffee. It'll stunt your growth."

I wasn't sure which I should object to more: that he thought I was a girl or that he thought I'd be growing any taller. "Point me in the right direction and I'll be out of your kitchen in a minute."

"Sit," he said, using the spoon to gesture toward the white table by the window. "Suppose you want grilled cheese. Always did like grilled cheese best."

What I wanted was coffee, but now that he mentioned it, real food would be good too. "What do you mean, always?" I asked as he shooed me to the table.

"Boy would say hamburgers or spaghetti. But, no, you'd cry grilled cheese, grilled cheese. Cried more than the baby. Always had to leave to get more cheese."

I gaped at the little man. I did have an older brother and a younger sister. "Have I met you before, Osier?"

"Helped raise you, didn't I?" He waved his spoon, and a tub of b.u.t.ter and a chunk of cheese floated out of the fridge, a pan jumped down from a cabinet over the stove, and the bread took itself out of the bread box.

Osier marched along the counter like a general overseeing his troops as he directed the grilled cheese sandwich to a.s.semble itself. A moment before, I would have been mystified and intrigued by the magic required for a sandwich to cook itself, but now, with his words still ringing in the air, it was his statement that left me speechless.

I had absolutely no memory of the brownie. h.e.l.l, I would have sworn I'd never seen a brownie before I met Ms. B less than a week ago. If Osier had "helped raise" me, as he put it, I must have been young. Really young. I'd spent most of my time at academy after I turned eight, and my brother, Brad, had disappeared a year after that.

The sandwich, lightly browned on the outside with a runnel of cheese escaping between the thick pieces of bread, floated out of the pan and hovered as it crossed the room. A plate followed, a tall gla.s.s of milk right behind it.

"So you knew my family when I was a kid?" I asked. Osier jumped onto the table and sat cross-legged in front of me as first the plate, then the sandwich, and finally the gla.s.s settled between us. "Still know the family, don't I? Though I've never seen much of the baby and I've been told the boy is gone. Sad, that. He was a good boy. Liked more than just grilled cheese." As he spoke, he looked from the mentioned meal to me, his gaze asking why I wasn't eating.

"It's not faerie food, is it?" I thought it was a perfectly legitimate question; after all, it had just prepared itself.

Osier jumped to his feet and slammed the b.u.t.t of his spoon against the tabletop. "Ungrateful. Selfish. Spoiled-"

"Look, look, I'm eating," I said, and true to my word, I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. "It's good." And it was. I mean, it was grilled cheese, so it didn't exactly take refined tastes to enjoy it, but it was crispy on the outside and gooey in the center, which pretty much cla.s.sified it as perfect.

As I ate, a car stopped out front and honked its horn. I crammed the rest of the sandwich in my mouth and jumped to my feet. "That's my taxi."

"Taxi? It's the middle of the night. Girl should be sleeping."

I didn't disagree, but unfortunately, going back to bed wasn't an option. I whistled for PC, and Osier bristled as the small dog pranced into the room.

"Outta my kitchen," he yelled, charging forward with the spoon.

I scooped up PC before the brownie could reach him. "He'll be out in a second," I said, and then looked around for my purse. I'd left it in the bedroom. The taxi horn honked a second time as I dropped PC on the bed before opening my purse and encouraging him to crawl inside. I didn't like the idea of taking PC with me to meet the kidnapper and make the exchange-even if I would have police backup-but leaving him alone with Osier wasn't an option.

The brownie was muttering about good girls, curfews, and bedtimes when I walked out the door. I left him to it, and I actually hoped to see the grumpy little guy again-more so because if I didn't see him again, it would probably mean I was in jail. And headed for Faerie.

Or dead.

The cabdriver wasn't happy when I told him where we were going, but at least he didn't grumble too loudly as I slid into the backseat. I was headed to the bridge almost an hour early, but I was hoping for time to prepare before Holly's kidnapper arrived. I hadn't decided if I would wait inside a magic circle or if I'd just have one ready, but I definitely wanted to have enough time to draw one.

We'd just reached the south side of the city where the tall skysc.r.a.pers vanished in favor of sprawling and dimly lit warehouses when Roy popped into the car.

"Uh, Alex, bad news," he said.

I had time to turn, my mouth falling open in preparation for a question. Then a car pulled out of a side street directly ahead of us, the glare of its headlights flooding the interior of the cab. The new car skidded to a halt in the middle of the intersection, and the cabbie stood on the brakes.

If the brakes had been powered by cursing, the cab would have frozen in s.p.a.ce. As it was, they squealed loudly, and the car skidded to one side. I grabbed PC as the momentum threw us forward. My forehead bounced off the seat in front of me and the seat belt cut tight, bruising my hips and chest. But the cab stopped.

What the h.e.l.l? I jerked my head up, squinting into the headlights that still washed us in a blinding glare. "Bell?" I asked, twisting to look at Roy.

He nodded as two more cars jetted to a stop behind the cab.

c.r.a.p. I had to get out of here. The warehouse district wasn't big on traffic at one in the morning, so no chance the cars belonged to tourists.

"When I said warn me, I meant before they were to the point of setting up roadblocks," I hissed, struggling with the seat belt. The cabbie must have still had his foot on the brake, because the belt was locked around me with not an inch of give.

"Bell's been in hiding. I didn't know until his men emerged," Roy said, his gaze riveted on the back window. The light filling the cab dimmed for a moment, as if something-or someone-had pa.s.sed in front of the headlights. "Alex, you need to get out of here."

No s.h.i.+t. The seat belt finally gave way and I tugged the strap of my purse over my shoulder as I slid across the seat.

"Your company has my card information," I yelled to the cabdriver, who'd thrown the cab into park and was climbing out of the driver's seat. I didn't try to stop him but wrenched my own door open.

Too late. Skimmers were already descending on the cab. Now what?

"Find Falin," I whispered to Roy as I jumped out.

"But he can't-" the ghost began.

Yeah, Falin couldn't see Roy. I knew that. Still, someone had to know the skimmers had come for me, and my phone was in my purse, under the dog, so I didn't exactly have time to call 911.

"Just find him. Tell him what happened." Somehow.

I hit the pavement running and darted around the closest skimmer. I dashed for the sprawling warehouse across the street-not that I had a plan for once I reached it. The purse in my arms shook as PC trembled, but I didn't have time to comfort him.

Behind me, the cabbie cursed, yelling at the car blocking the road. I didn't see the spell that sent him to the pavement, but I sensed it: a medicinal-grade sleeping charm. I also sensed a couple of tracking charms-probably the best that money could buy. No wonder they found me so fast.

I had one foot of the sidewalk when a guy who spent way too much time in the gym grabbed my arm. He jerked me back, shoving me toward the rear b.u.mper of the cab.

"Hey!"

"Boss wants to see you," he said. Then he pushed my pelvis against the side panel of the cab and wrenched my arm behind my back. No sleep charm for me. He snapped a handcuff around my wrist, locking it tight with a click. The cold metal instantly heated against my skin and began to itch and a wave of nausea rolled through me. c.r.a.p. High iron content. a.s.shole.

"I think there's been some mistake," I said, struggling in his grasp as I tried to twist free. My efforts might as well have been those of a child. Without missing a beat, he grabbed my other arm and jerked it behind me.

"Watch the dog!"

His hands actually hesitated, and I think he realized for the first time that PC was there. The dog's presence seemed to stump him. What, he's never seen a dog in a purse before? That or he thought PC was some sort of hairless rat-that happened. Either way, I used his distraction to my advantage and slammed the heel of my boot into his foot.

"b.i.t.c.h." He grabbed my hair and shoved my face against the car. Pain exploded across my cheek, my vision blaring red for a moment. By the time I could feel anything other than the sting, my hands were both cuffed. The goon hauled me back, dragging me away from the taxi.

Goon Two-I'd wondered where he was-opened the door to an ancient square monstrosity of a car as I was shoved toward it. The other skimmers just stood and watched, or ran to their own cars as I was forcibly abducted. PC ducked low in my purse.

I was a foot from the car when the raver chick popped into the s.p.a.ce in front of me, blocking the door.

"Okay, we've reached a consensus," she said, hands on her hips and nails boring into the plastic of her pants.

"But for the record, I'm still opposed." The gray man popped into the s.p.a.ce beside me.

I looked from one collector to the other, and the goon gave me a shove. "I said to get in the car."

Okay, so he might not have been able to see the collectors, but they were very real, and very physical, to me, and right now the raver was blocking my path. As if she'd just realized that, the collector glanced back at my abductor and then ducked into the car. I followed because the goon gave me no choice. I expected the gray man to follow, but the body that slid across the seat after me was much more familiar.

Death.

"What's going on?" I whispered as I scooted over to give him and the gray man more room.

Death didn't answer, but reached out and touched the cheek the goon had slammed into the taxi. Muscles clenched along his jaw as he gritted his teeth. His gaze went dark and shot to where the two goons were climbing into the front seats. The gray man pressed the length of his cane against Death's chest, not holding him back exactly, but more like giving him a reminder.

The backseat really wasn't meant for four people, especially when two of them were well-built guys. The old beater lurched into motion and I ended up squished, my hips wedged between the raver and Death, my hands still cuffed behind my back and a dog in my lap. The raver was crammed against the far door, and the gray man ended up twisted, with one hip more on the door than the seat.

As my bare shoulder pressed against the raver's, she jumped, her eyes flaring wide. "What the-"

"It's Alex," Death said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, which gave everyone a smidgen more room. "She's touching you and the car."

The raver's eyes were still a little too wide, like she wasn't sure if she was impressed or p.i.s.sed. She trailed her fingers over the molding on the door, and I wondered, not for the first time, what the collectors actually saw and felt in this plane. She had, after all, climbed into the car, but clearly it hadn't been entirely real to her until now. Just as long as I don't accidentally pull them far enough across for them to become visible. Or maybe I should. It would give the goons a good scare if three extra people appeared in their backseat.

"Freaky," she said, dropping her hand.

"So, uh, hi, guys. You might have noticed, I'm handcuffed in the back of a car and am being taken against my will. So is this a social visit, or are you planning to help?"

Goon Two twisted in his seat and looked back at me. "Did you say something?"

I dropped my gaze, focusing on PC. He was trembling in the purse, clearly aware that something was very wrong but not sure what to do about it.

"What do you expect us to do? Rip out their souls?" the raver asked, and I frowned. "Even that one"-she pointed at Death-"isn't that foolish-yet."

"And we intend to keep it that way," the gray man muttered from the other end of the seat.

Why do I get the feeling I've landed in the middle of a long-running argument? "So why are we all crammed in this backseat together?"

"Like I said, we reached a consensus." The raver twisted so she could look at me better. "You already know too much-"

"Though he swears he didn't tell you." The gray man tapped the skull-topped cane on Death's knee.

"-So we've decided to employ your help," the raver said, though she didn't look happy about it. "You can go places we can't."

The gray man cupped his hands over the skull. "Namely, Faerie."

I frowned at the collectors. "You can't go to Faerie?"

The raver shrugged and her dreadlocks brushed my shoulder. They were stiffer than they looked. "Our planes don't touch. There is no death in Faerie." She smiled like she'd made a joke.

I didn't laugh. "If you want me to go anywhere, I have to get out of this car first."

"We can't interfere with such mortal matters." The gray man focused on Death, not me, as he spoke.

Right. So much for this being a rescue. "So what's in Faerie?"

The raver glanced at the two male collectors. Then she said, "You are aware we have a . . . situation."

I nodded. The rogue reaper. "But if you can't go to Faerie, he can't either, right?"

"No. But he has a mortal accomplice."