Game Of Cages (2010) (7 page)

I wondered how she could hold the sky in her arms while it was inside a plastic cage, but it didn't seem polite to argue. "That's a pretty way to describe him."

She waved my comment away. "I didn't write it. Some college professor did. I held a poetry contest years back to find someone to capture Armand's essence, if you know what I mean. The winner had retired up here from some southern university to start a winery, and he won the cash prize hands down. Then I invited him to the house.

"He didn't think much of writing a poem about some rich broad's dog until he met Armand, of course. Then he fell in love, just like anyone would. He spent six months here, sleeping on a cot, watching Armand--staring at him. What I said before is all I remember of the poem he wrote. You'd think it was sap if you'd never seen."

Her tone had changed. Something told me I should probe further. "What happened?"

"He refused to leave," she answered, her mouth twisting with anger. "He even told me that he loved Armand more than I did. That I wasn't 'sensitive' enough to appreciate him. Ursula had to taser him to keep him from breaching the cage. Hah! I appreciated Armand enough to take care of that old fool."

The way she said that gave me a chill. "What did you do?"

She bared her teeth. "I ..." Then she stopped. It was pretty clear that she'd been about to confess to a crime. "Well, I paid him off," she said, in the least convincing way possible. "Also, I had the sheriff run him out of town. Out of the country, actually. He'd committed a crime against me, stolen books out of my library, if you have to pry. I warned him that I was going to call the police the next day, and he was gone before morning. To Canada, maybe. Or Fiji. That's all and nothing more."

She lifted her nose and looked away from me. Most people are terrible liars, but she was the worst I'd ever met. She could contradict herself all in one breath. "I'm not a cop," I said. "I'm not going to arrest you. You killed him, didn't you?"

"Yes," she said, smiling at me with open contempt. "Yes, of course I did. I knifed him and pulled him out into the woods on a big old sled all by myself." She looked at me as if she might like to cut me open and gulp down my heart. "And I'll do the same to anyone who tries to come between me and my Armand."

"Is that right?"

"It is. It's very right. And don't lie to me--I'm not fooled by that big silver tray and that tiny jacket. I know you're one of the people that bitch brought here to buy him. Stephanie doesn't understand. She's never been close enough to really see, to really feel it. But if I thought you had my Armand, I'd cut your pathetic little johnny off and stuff it down your throat until you choked on it!"

I nodded. I had gotten the message. Of course, if she found out what I really wanted to do to her pet, she'd come apart at the seams. The bidders only wanted to buy him.

The urge to throttle the miserable life out of her made my hands shake. I went into the hall, closed the door, and walked away. It wasn't my place to put people out of their misery or dish out punishment for old crimes. I wasn't pure as snow myself. Besides, no matter what she'd done, I didn't want to see the expression she'd made when the nurse had pinched her.

I went back to the stairs. Voices echoed up from the bottom floor, so I went farther down the hall to a narrow set of steps at the end. I paused at the top, but the only sound I could hear was a TV announcer droning away. I crept down.

There was a short hallway at the bottom of the stairs that led to an exterior door. There were also three interior doors, one of which was open. The announcer's voice and a flickering TV light came from there.

I looked around, wondering how I was going to pass that open door without alerting whoever was inside.

An old woman in a maid's uniform stepped into the doorway and stared at me. She glanced at my white jacket with contempt; she wasn't fooled for a second.

While I considered what I should do, she rolled her eyes and shut the door. Apparently, she wasn't being paid to be security.

I walked to the exterior door. There was a dead-bolt key on a hook by the door, but I left it. As long as I had my ghost knife, I didn't need keys. I set the tray against the wall and went outside. After the musty warmth of the house, the cold made my skin feel tight on my face and hands.

The cottage sat at the top of the bare slope. When I crossed to it, I would be in full view of anyone looking out of a back window. I wished I had some cloud cover to darken the lawn; the thick black power line that ran from the house to the guesthouse cast a moon shadow on the lawn.

I jogged across the damp crabgrass. He's the only dog of his kind in the world, Regina had said. A sapphire dog. I wondered if she was being literal or if that was more rotten poetry. I still imagined something with wings.

Maybe it was a bad idea to imagine anything. Whether it had wings, was shaped like a dog, or was just a blue smear of light, I was going to have to destroy it. If I could. Better to keep an open mind.

A stairway of mortared stone led up the muddy slope. I jogged up. The cottage faced away from the main house, and all but one of the ground-floor windows were shuttered. I peeked inside. A desk lamp shone onto scattered papers and a closed laptop, but the room beyond was dark. I circled around.

There was a huge metal tank and a generator against the building. I rapped on the tank. It was nearly full. Regina had enough fuel to run that generator for weeks.

The front of the cottage was pretty much what illustrated fairy-tale books had taught me to expect. There was a heavy wooden door with an even heavier lintel. On either side was a window split into four panes with a window box underneath. At the far side of the building, I saw the front of a parked ATV.

By the floodlight above the door, I saw muddy footprints smeared on the stone walkway leading to the door. I knocked, then knocked again. No answer.

The door was locked. I slid the ghost knife between the door and the jamb, then put it into my back pocket. The door creaked open.

"Hello?" I called. The room was silent. I reached for a light switch, then stopped myself.

A ceramic tile hung on the wall just above the switch. It was about the size of my palm, and it was painted white with an emerald-green squiggle on it.

Out of habit, I glanced down at my hand. The squiggle didn't look exactly like the marks on me, but it was similar enough to make me nervous. I took out my ghost knife again and sliced through the tile.

It split in two, but even before it fell, the broken squiggle released a jet of black steam and iron-gray sparks. I jumped out of the doorway to avoid the spray.

A magic sigil can throw off a lot of energy when it's been destroyed.

After it died down, I stepped back into the room. Whatever that spell had been created to do, it was just a mess on the floor now. I flicked on the light.

The cottage was a single room with very little furniture. A narrow bed was set into the back corner with a small dresser beside it. Next to that was a narrow desk with a lamp still burning, and beside that was the tiny stove from Regina's photo. The shelf above the stove was filled with can after can of Dinty Moore beef stew.

I saw no TV, no stereo, no bookshelves, and no Charlie Brown Christmas tree strung with lights. There was one thing in here to occupy a person's attention.

A large Plexiglas cage was set into a recess in the floor. It was larger than the one in the truck, maybe five feet on each side. It, too, had powerful floodlights at four corners, all aimed inward. Tiny electric fans were set on opposite sides of the cage, one to blow in, I guessed, and one to blow out. The black electrical wires powering them were strung all around the Plexi and held in place with peeling yellowed tape. There was also a plastic hatch along one side with an additional light shining through it.

Hanging from the ceiling was a smaller Plexiglas cube that could be fitted to the hatch. I guessed it was a holding tank so the main cage could be cleaned.

But there was nothing in the cage that needed cleaning--no bowls, blankets, litter boxes, or squeak toys. There hadn't been any of that packed in the truck, either.

A rocking chair was set at the edge of the recessed section of floor. I imagined Regina sitting and staring into the cage.

The door banged open behind me. I spun. A woman was silhouetted by the floodlight. She was almost six feet tall, broad in the shoulders and hips and dressed head to toe in white ski gear. Her plump face was pale and puffy. It was Ursula.

I felt the edge of the ghost knife in my pocket. "Don't move!" she shouted with an accent I couldn't place. She extended her arm, and I realized she was holding a gun.

It was a Colt .45, very old, very intimidating, and very aimed at my head. Someone who knew more about guns would have aimed it at my chest, where I had protective tattoos. I didn't have any protection on my face.

"Put that away," I said, sounding much more calm than I felt. "I've come to offer you a job."

"Hands up!" she barked. "Take your hand out of your pocket slowly. It should be empty, or I will shoot. Yes?" Her accent was northern European--Swedish maybe. I left my ghost knife in my pocket and showed her my empty hands.

"How did you get in here without ...?" She glanced back at the wall and saw that the tile was gone. She didn't think to look on the floor. "Who are you?"

"You should hear me out, and quickly. I'm not kidding about that job."

"I think you are kidding. Even if you were not, I would never work for a man dressed as kitchen help. Besides, I already have a job. I will be traveling with Armand early tomorrow, and I do not have time to waste."

I smiled. "Armand isn't going to Hong Kong with Yin."

She smirked at me. "Do you know something I don't?"

"Everyone knows something you don't. Why don't you close that door? This jacket isn't worth a damn."

I held open the servant's jacket so she could see I was unarmed, then stripped it off and tossed it onto the top of the plastic cage. She stared at me in shock. Apparently, touching the cage was Just Not Done.

She entered and pulled the door shut. The latch didn't engage because I had cut it off. "This is my home," she said.

I felt a twinge of guilt at that. I had done a lot of rotten things and I'd broken my share of laws, but I didn't like scaring women. Not that she looked scared.

Too late now. "I'm sorry for barging in, Ursula," I said, trying to keep any genuine regret out of my voice. I didn't think she'd trust a sympathetic face. "I had to see this setup for myself. It's not much, is it?"

"What is it that you know that I do not?"

"That Asian fellow offered you a job, correct? To keep caring for Armand?"

She nodded. "Of course. I have cared for him for years. I am the expert."

"Well, he doesn't have Armand anymore."

Her expression didn't change. "What do you mean? Who has him, you?"

"No one has him, as of an hour ago. He's running loose on the mountainside."

Her expression still hadn't changed. I didn't like the way she was looking at me. It reminded me too much of Regina's flinty stare. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm here." I sat in the rocking chair and didn't let my smile fade. "I wanted to see whether he came back here. This is his home, isn't it?"

"It has been for twenty-two years." Both of us stared into the empty cage.

"Do you think he will come back here eventually? His home doesn't look very comfortable."

"He does not need comfort. He is not like other kinds of dog. At first, we gave him chew toys and soft blankets, but he never bothered with them. He never ate, either. Never drank water. I'm not even sure he ever breathed ..." Her voice trailed off. I wanted to keep her going.

"Never ate?" I prompted. "What kind of dog is he?"

"He is not a dog, of course. Not a real one. He is a spirit. We fed him with our love. That was all he needed."

We heard a pair of gunshots. They were far away, faintly echoing off the mountainsides. Maybe Biker wasn't going home after all.

"My God!" Ursula said. "Are they hunting him?"

"No one is going to shoot him, not when he is worth so much," I said. "It was probably--"

She turned toward me and raised the Colt. I threw myself and the rocking chair to the side as the gun went off. I rolled onto the floor, wondering if she'd hit me.

The ghost knife was already in my hand. I threw it.

The gun went off again, splintering the wooden floor. A moment later, the ghost knife sliced through the Colt's barrel and hammer. Then the spell passed through Ursula's shoulder.

Her ski jacket split open, but I knew the flesh beneath would be unmarked. The top of the pistol fell to the side, and the spring in the magazine flung the remaining rounds into the air. I reached for the ghost knife, and it returned to me, passing through Ursula's stomach.

She stared in amazement at the weapon in her hand. I relaxed a bit and checked myself for bullet wounds--I'd heard people could be shot but not feel it. I didn't find any blood. She'd missed. A little shiver ran through me; I'd been lucky.

I kicked the rocking chair away and felt it wobble. The gun or the fall had broken it. I rolled onto my knees.

The floorboards shifted. On impulse, I raised my arm just as Ursula body-slammed into me. I heard an electric crackle, then felt a sharp, burning pain on my biceps.

My whole body jolted as an electric current ran through me, making all my muscles fire at once. We hit the floor together, and the impact broke the connection. I twisted, reached up with my other arm, and caught her wrist.

She'd burned me with a stun gun, and if I hadn't raised my arm, she would have zapped me in the eyes.

Her face was close. Her teeth bared, her eyes wide with a killing urge. Damn. The ghost knife had passed through her. Twice. Why hadn't it worked?

I tried to push her off me, but she was too big and too strong. She raised herself up and put her whole weight behind the stun gun, forcing it toward my face.

I didn't have the strength to hold her off with just my left hand, and my right was numb and weak from the shock. She grinned at me, and I could see triumph in that smile.