Harsh Gods (20 page)

“Why don’t you ask me what I’ve been up to?” she suggested.

“Probably because you’re going to tell me anyway.” I didn’t blink as I met her gray-eyed gaze.

She frowned. “So cranky. You really need to get laid.”

“Not up for discussion,” I responded. “Are you going to get in the car, or do I find out how long you can hang on while I drive away?”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “Cranky,” she repeated.

I keyed the ignition as she sauntered around the front of the vehicle, rolling her hips elaborately as she walked. Once the car started up, my iPod spat out the opening riffs of Tool’s “Schism.” I silently cursed whatever cruel mechanism of the universe had gifted my stereo with a sense of irony, then reached across to unlock Lil’s door, stopping short of actually opening it for her.

She slid inside, pulling a sheaf of papers from her little white clutch purse. They seemed longer than the purse was tall, yet they came out unwrinkled. I pondered the Gallifreyan physics of her trusty handbag, then glanced over the pages.

They were printouts of articles from a variety of animal-rights websites, with a couple of news blogs peppered throughout the bunch. The news blogs didn’t seem especially deserving of the name—they were mostly conspiracy theory nuts and fundamentalist rags.

“To prove that we’re dealing with one of the Rephaim, I started looking for evidence of sacrifices,” she said. “Sure enough, there’s been a rash of animal mutilations. These are the most relevant stories. There were others.”

“How is something called ‘The End Times Blog’ a reliable news source?” I inquired.

“Since they include pictures of mutilated animals, a makeshift altar, and a very real ancient Name,” she hissed, snatching the paper from me. Folding it down, she stabbed her nail at a grainy photo near the bottom.

In my defense, it was a tiny picture. I had to squint to see the characters.

“Terhuziel,” I grunted. “Are those cats?”

Her first response was an unintelligible sound of strangled rage.

“An old woman, living alone,” she growled. “A dozen cats, maybe more. She skinned some. Burned the rest alive. A week before, they were her babies. The authorities put her in a home. Blamed dementia. She killed herself once she realized what she’d done.”

As the words poured out of her, the scent of ozone crackled from Lil’s hair. She gripped the leather clutch purse as if it had done her some wrong. The inside of the Hellcat suddenly felt too tiny to contain her.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

“Then you’re not a complete idiot,” she snapped.

“Only most of the time?” I ventured.

It was a weak try, calculated to lighten her mood, but Lil didn’t cave. She turned her face away and stared out the window. Her breath steamed the glass in slow, controlled bursts. If she’d been anyone else, I’d have assumed she was fighting back tears.

Lillee Gibson was the most cold-blooded killer I could imagine when it came to mortals. I’d never seen her moved by a death—at least not with grief. Not even with rage. This was an entirely new side of her. That it involved animals shouldn’t have surprised me—she was, after all, the Lady of Beasts.

“The mutilations started back in February,” she said, her voice still rough. “The first one I could credibly tie to all this was on the twentieth. I plotted them on a map. It’s the page at the very bottom.” The wounded anger slowly bled from her voice, until she mostly sounded tired. “Too many people overlook the suffering of animals. A mortal turns up dead, and the authorities are all over it—even if the person deserved it. Skin half a dozen cats alive, and some people fucking cheer.”

“Lil,” I said, reaching my hand out. She slapped it away without even looking.

After puffing a breath, she continued. “They started in a pretty concentrated area, then spread out as the weeks progressed. The activity’s centered on a five-block radius in Cleveland Heights.”

I switched to the map. “Nice neighborhood. Not the sort of place you’d expect that kind of thing.” I squinted at the tiny lettering on the printout. “Is one of those streets called Whitethorn?”

She didn’t bother to check. “Yeah. Whitethorn’s near the middle.”

“We’ve got ground zero, then.” I fished in my pocket and handed over the sticky note with Dr. Alan Kramer’s address. Lil took it, frowning—but at least it no longer felt like she was going to summon a hurricane inside of my car.

“What happened at this address?” she asked.

“They didn’t stop at animals,” I said.

Lil yanked the pages from my hand and shoved them back into her purse. They disappeared like she had dropped them down a well. When I didn’t put the car into gear right away, she slapped the steering wheel.

“What are you waiting for?” she demanded. “We need to search that house!” She raised her hand for a second strike, and I deflected it, irritably shoving the arm back to her side of the car.

“It’s on my list,” I said, “but I have to stop at the hospital first. After that, I’ve got to track down Bobby’s partner.”

She loosed a snarl of impatience. “Why?”

Images of spirit-locks and ancient wars danced behind my eyes, courtesy of Terael’s memories.

“Because reasons,” I said, taking a page from her own book.

Lil’s snarl of impatience developed to a full-fledged growl. I half expected to catch sight of her spectral lioness in the rearview mirror, looming and ready to pounce, but the sound had come from Lil’s human-shaped throat. Still, there was nothing human about it.

The interior of the car started to feel more like the confines of a cage, and I was on the wrong side with the wild animal.

“Lil, he’s not in that house any more,” I insisted. “It’s a crime scene, and the police have been in and out of it for weeks. At best, he’ll have left some kind of imprint on the Shadowside. Something that might help me track where he’s at now. If it’s there, it’ll wait a couple hours. I’m at least stopping at the hospital. Halley is our priority,” I said flatly.

She pursed her lips, but didn’t try talking me out of it. Slowly, the inhuman sound of displeasure abated. It felt like I was sitting next to a person again, as opposed to something… mythic. Lacking a steering wheel of her own to abuse, she ratcheted her nails against the dash. They were still painted with shamrocks, emerald glitter catching the light from the street.

“What’s so special about the girl?” she asked finally.

I almost told her, and then thought better of it. Lil wouldn’t share my compunctions about killing Halley. She’d side with Terael on the matter.

“She’s got strong psychic abilities,” I hedged. “He’s using her to put himself back together again. I need to sever whatever ties he’s already planted in her head.”

“So he’s one of the Shattered,” she murmured. “That’s the first bit of good news all day.” After rolling that around in her head for a moment, she added, “Let’s go.”

“Just like that?” I asked.

She glared at me. “Yeah, just like that. Would you like me to argue?”

“No.” I put the car in gear. “Just used to you making my life difficult, is all.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “You have a decimus of the Rephaim trying set himself up as a new godling in your town. Right now, your life is difficult enough. Drive.”

For close to nine o’clock on a Saturday night, the lot outside of University Hospital was packed. Half the city must have decided to get sick at the same time. I circled a few times while Lil churned toward the boiling point beside me.

After my second pass down one of the lanes, she seized the wheel, nearly jerking my car into the back of an Escalade. I crushed the brake pedal against the floor, slapping her away.

“What the hell, Lil?” I demanded.

“We’re wasting time,” she snarled through gritted teeth. “Park the fucking car.”

I made a rude gesture at the lot in general, saying, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s not a lot of parking out here.”

She stabbed a shamrock-decked finger in the direction of a looming concrete structure to the far right of the lot.

“Parking garage. Use it.”

I grumbled, checking my pockets, then pulling out my wallet.

“What?” she scoffed, adding mockingly, “Is that too far for you to walk? I could break your ankle, if you’d rather someone wheel you in.”

“I walk more than I drive in this city,” I shot back, glowering at her. “Doesn’t matter—I don’t have any cash on me.”

“It’s a modern facility, Zaquiel,” she said in a patronizing tone. “They take this magical thing called plastic.”

Swinging the car in the direction of the parking garage, I grumbled, “I almost forgot what a pain in the ass you can be.”

“Just park this beast and let’s get on with it. If I’d been driving, we could have been in and out by now,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “Do you even know what room she’s in?”

“Nope,” I answered, rolling up to the booth. There wasn’t a rate posted, which meant I probably didn’t want to know. I snagged a ticket and urged the Hellcat gently over the speed bump.

“You got a last name for this girl at least?” she huffed.

“Halley Davis,” I replied. “She’s special needs.”

The first level of the parking garage was packed. I nosed past rows of sedans and compacts, all stained with salt from the winter roads.

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find,” Lil said.

I took the nearly forty-five degree turn up to the next level, almost ending up nose-to-nose with a Camry on its way down. Once it was past, Lil gestured sharply to what looked like an open space to the right. She lunged for the steering wheel again. I hunched forward, bodily blocking her with my shoulders.

“Motorcycle,” I snarled.

She craned her neck as I crawled closer to the space, huffing when she spotted the ass-end of the Yamaha.

“Who the hell rides a motorcycle in this weather?”

“Whatever idiot parked there. Next question?”

“There—that spot.
Right there
,” she said, pointing. She didn’t attempt to take control this time. Small victories. I canted my head, studying the narrow slice of parking between a Scion and a badly angled Jeep Cherokee.

“Not sure the Hellcat will fit in there,” I muttered.

“Oh, I can make it fit,” Lil replied ominously.

I barely managed to bite back a “
That’s what she said.
” Lil moved to grab the wheel again, and I snapped my teeth at her to warn her away.

She laughed.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, flyboy.”

Right. Forgot who I was dealing with.

“If you promise not to grab the wheel out of my hands, I’ll try parking there.”

“Zaquiel, I’m hurt,” she cooed. “You act like I’m out to make trouble for you.”

“You’re still breathing, so yeah,” I fired back. “Hell, I’m pretty sure I’d have to watch my ass, even if you were dead.”

She actually chuckled. “Park already,” she said. “The bad guys are doing bad guy things while we argue, and no one’s there to stop them.”

That almost sounded reasonable. I shot her a genuinely incredulous look, then decided it was smarter not to question it. Lil had probably taught the Trojans the meaning of a sucker-punch.

Banking the wheel sharply, I nosed the Hellcat into the narrow and off-center space. With the way the asshole in the Jeep had parked, it was a tight fit, but I made it work. Lil was halfway out before I cut the motor. She walked briskly toward the stairwell, the heels of her boots echoing hollowly through the cavernous levels of dingy concrete. She glanced at me over her shoulder as I jogged to catch up.

“It’s after nine o’clock, flyboy,” she said. “Visiting hours are over. You give any thought to how you’re going to get to this girl?”

“Ask at an information desk?” I ventured.

“Amateur,” she barked. “They’re closed.”

“I guess you’ll show me how it’s done, then,” I answered, managing to keep most of the sarcasm out of my voice.

“Watch and learn,” she taunted. She shrugged out of her leather and shoved it at me. “Hold this.” Next, she dug a scrunchie out of her purse and pulled her wild locks back from her face. She added a second, twisting her hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck.

Pressing the heel of one hand against her brightly colored lips, she patted away the lipstick till they were almost their natural color. She never stopped walking, but continued at a brisk pace all the way to the main building. She rubbed the excess lipstick off on her palms, then swept the backs of her fingers across her cheekbones, toning down her blush.

She dug again into the handbag, and it disgorged a pair of tortoise-rimmed reading glasses. With a smug little flourish, she slipped these onto her nose.

Mutely bearing witness to the swift stages of this transformation, I tucked the jacket under one arm and followed gamely along. Sometimes it was worth letting Lil take charge just to see what she was going to do next.

Steal someone’s lab coat.

That was what she did next. Then Lil strode straight to an empty information desk and slipped behind it like she belonged. From there, she nabbed a clipboard and a pen. She glanced through stacks of notes around the computer, moving them around with the tip of the pen, very conscious not to leave fingerprints. From the looks of things, she found what she was seeking, and did it in under a minute flat.

She ducked back out from behind the desk and headed for the elevators, motioning for me to follow. If I got too close, she quickened her pace, moving with the same brisk urgency as Alice’s time-conscious white rabbit.

“You do this a lot?” I called.

“Keep your voice down,” she snapped.

We reached the elevators and she pressed the “UP” button—again, using not her finger, but the tip of the pen. She waited, humming softly to herself.

“Is that Dixie Chicks?” I asked incredulously.

She kept humming.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. It was empty. Lil hustled me inside, then stood about an arm’s length from me, facing slightly away. She waited for the doors to slide shut before she said anything. Her voice was low and I had to strain to hear.

“Act like you don’t know me. Hang back at least ten paces. And whenever you see signs on the walls, stare at them and look lost. That part shouldn’t be hard for you,” she added witheringly.