Rogue Oracle (21 page)

“Good.”

“You know Cassie’s safe. You know the dirty bomb exploded. What else do you want?”

Tara heard the staticky sound of the Pythia exhaling smoke over the receiver. “You’re going to chase your killer down. Back to Chernobyl. I want to help you. If you will accept my help, that is.”

Tara blinked. “What do you have in mind? And what kind of strings are you attaching to this ‘help’?”

“No strings. Delphi’s Daughters wants this man stopped, as much as you do.”

“Like you wanted to stop that child molester Cassie killed?”

The Pythia paused. “I understand that you fail to appreciate my … economy of action. But in this situation, our interests neatly intersect. I will make travel arrangements for you and Harry to—”

“Not Harry,” Tara said. “Just me.” She didn’t want to get Harry sucked into more of the Pythia’s games. Though the Pythia had promised to leave Cassie alone, she’d made no such guarantees for Tara or Harry.

“All right, then,” the Pythia continued smoothly. “I’ll provide you with a guide, as well. I’ll get the information to you shortly. When will you be ready to leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch.”

The phone went dead, and Tara punched the button to resume the elevator’s descent. She frowned at the dark screen of the phone. She didn’t trust the Pythia, didn’t want to get sucked back into her games. But she didn’t really have a choice. The Chimera had to be stopped, or else they were courting more disasters like the dirty bomb explosion.

But she’d do her damndest to keep the ones she loved out of the Pythia’s grip.

The elevator doors opened on one of the LOC floors, the floor she’d found Jenny tucked away in her archives with her photographic plates. When she stepped out onto the concrete floor, the motion-detector lights fizzled on, heralding her arrival.

“Hello? Jenny?” Tara called into the gloom. It was past nine
AM
. The archivist should be lurking around here, somewhere—if she wasn’t taking a day off.

A light blinked on in the distance. Tara breathed a sigh of relief. She was here.

The archivist approached, wearing a set of brown coveralls and what looked like welder’s gloves. A pair of safety glasses was perched on the top of her head. She assessed Tara’s costume. “You dressed for the same party?”

Tara looked down at her Tyvek suit and grimaced. “Let’s just say that it’s been a thoroughly sucktastic day.” She extended her arms with Veriss’s office supplies. “I brought you a bribe.”

“Oooh. Those are expensive, and Finance never approves requests for those.” Jenny picked up the charts and markers, flipping through the pages to make sure they were new. “And what kind of information would you be needing today?”

“I’m taking a trip,” Tara said. “To Chernobyl. I need maps of the surrounding area, as good as you can get. I need information on transportation, places to stay, a decent phrase book … anything you can find for me.”

Jenny’s eyebrows lifted. “Your own chain of command would typically provide those to you for an investigation.”

Tara shook her head, thinking of Harry. He had his hands full, but she knew that he wouldn’t want her to go. Better that he knew nothing. “My chain of command is blissfully unaware of my trip.”

“Follow me.” Jenny hauled the supplies back to her office. Tara followed, her suit making strange swishing noises. The synthetic material was beginning to itch, and she self-consciously scratched her shoulder as Jenny rummaged around her shelves.

“This is for you.” Jenny picked up a cardboard box on the floor and handed it to her. It was curiously light. Tara peered inside. She saw file folders full of papers and more Tyvek suits.

“Protective gear. The kind archivists use for handling hazardous chemicals is pretty low-level protection, but you aren’t going to be able to get a full Level A contamination suit on a plane. Well, you could get it on a plane, but it’ll probably get stolen long before you get to your destination. Those things are expensive, and worth good money in the underground market. The rest is documentation, stop-off points, and some contact information.”

The skin on the back of Tara’s neck prickled, and she took a step back. “You knew that I was coming.”

Jenny shrugged nonchalantly, didn’t meet her gaze. “I got a call earlier in the day that you’d want these things.”

“From who?” Tara knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it. Her knuckles whitened on the box.

“From a mutual friend.” Jenny set the flipcharts down on the floor, stepped back to admire them. “Amira thinks very highly of you.”

That bitch. That bitch was always one step ahead. And Tara could almost hear the click and whir of the Pythia’s machinations closing around her.

Chapter Sixteen

W
HAT THE
hell happened to you?”

Cassie launched herself into Tara’s arms, then pulled back, staring at the crinkly Tyvek suits Tara and Harry were wearing. Maggie sniffed at the plastic. Even Oscar was curious enough to pad across the Steves’ living room to investigate. He began to wind his way around Tara’s calves in a figure eight pattern, seeming to delight at the static electricity generated by his fur sticking to the plastic.

“Were you at the airport?” Cassie asked.

“Yeah. It wasn’t good.”

In the background of the house, a news channel could be heard reporting on the dirty bomb explosion. The Cowboy was watching the television with crossed arms, an inscrutable expression on his face. He glanced up to say: “Y’all look like you got into a tussle with some aliens. Hope you didn’t get probed.”

Harry crossed the room and sank into the couch opposite the Cowboy. “Steve. What’s up?”

“You better not be getting radioactive particles all over this new leather couch.”

Harry snorted. “You still owe me for getting chupacabra guts all over the interior of a rental car. Don’t worry about the fucking particles.”

The Kahuna finished locking up downstairs and closed the loft door. A bar towel was cast over his shoulder. “Anybody want a drink?”

“I can’t stay,” Harry said. “I need to get back and—”

“Bullshit,” the Kahuna said. “The Department of Homeland Security looks like they’re pretending to have things well in hand.” He handed Harry a beer. “Drink up, boy.”

Harry stared into the glass. “Have you ever thought that you might have a problem with alcohol, Steve?”

“Have you ever thought you might have a problem with being an asshole, Harry?”

Harry grinned and raised the glass. “Cheers, Steve.”

Tara rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to imagine the three of them on a road trip involving Chupacabra innards. “You guys mind if I go take a shower?” The Tyvek suit didn’t breathe much, and Tara’s toes were squishing in sweat. The suit was now covered in cat fur from the knees down.

“Have at it.”

Tara plodded off down the hallway. Cassie followed her to the bedroom. “Are you sure you’re okay?” the girl asked.

Tara nodded. “Just tired. And you?”

Cassie gave her a weak smile. “The Steves are feeding me well.”

“You like them?”

“Yeah. They’re pretty funny. And they brew good beer.”

Not a resounding endorsement, but Tara would take it. “How would you feel about staying with them for a while?”

Cassie sat down on the edge of the bed. “What do you mean, ‘a while’?”

Tara took a deep breath. “This man we’re chasing. He’s a survivor from Chernobyl—altered into something other than human. The lives he’s taking, he’s absorbing their DNA and memories. He’s a chimera, of sorts.” She left out the uglier parts of the absorption of his victims. “He’s very dangerous, and he’s selling the secrets he’s taken.”

Cassie paused, and Tara could see her mind working to understand, to make the intuitive connections. “Chiron, from my charts. Half man, half beast. And he’s bringing the knowledge of fire to those who shouldn’t have it.”

Tara nodded. “We chased him to the airport, but he escaped in the bomb explosion you saw on the news. Our Chimera is on his way back to Chernobyl. I need to stop him.” Tara looked the girl full in the face. “But I want to make sure that you’re feeling safe.”

“Feeling safe and being safe are two different things.” Cassie wrapped her arms around her elbows.

“I spoke to the Pythia.”

Cassie blinked, looked up. She didn’t say anything, just waited for Tara to continue.

“She’s sworn that she will not come after you.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Mostly.” Tara spread her hands open. “Once upon a time, the Pythia’s word meant something. I hope that it still does. But … I think the Steves mean well. I’ll ask them to look after you while I’m gone.”

Cassie’s ears pricked up, hearing the wrong pronoun. “You’re not taking Harry.” It was an accusation. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone.” She said it as if she was declaring judgment on the entirety of Tara’s life, not just the case.

Tara shook her head. “No. And I don’t want him to follow. He’s got enough on his hands here.” She glanced past the closed door. “These kinds of incidents—the deaths, the bomb at the airport—are the kind that can ruin a career. Whether he wants to or not, he needs to be here to do damage control.” That was only half true. Tara didn’t want to tell Cassie that the Pythia was leading Tara to the Chimera’s trail.

“You’re not telling him, either.” Cassie frowned at her.

Tara sighed. “No, I’m not telling him. This is something I’ve got to do on my own. And I know that he won’t like it.”

T
ARA WOULD HAVE PREFERRED TO HAVE SLEPT CURLED UP IN
Harry’s arms, listening to his strong heart beat inside his chest.

But after her shower, she collapsed into bed. The sunshine felt too warm and she felt too drowsy to resist; exhaustion swept over her. She was barely conscious of the
zing-zing
sound of someone walking into the bedroom in a protective suit. For a moment, a cool shadow blotted out the red sunshine behind her eyelids. The shadow kissed her forehead before she fell into dreams. Perhaps she imagined it. But in the sunshine, it felt real enough.

She dreamed of sunlight, too, gentle heat against her skin. In her dream, she was sitting in the prow of a gondola, gliding across water. The water stretched from horizon to horizon, under a blue sky. Behind her, in the boat, the lion lolled. He occasionally reached over the edge of the gondola to slap at the water. Behind him in the boat were arranged six swords, buried point-down in the hull of the boat. She recognized the card from her deck: the Six of Swords, the card of journeys.

The boat seemed to move of its own accord, as if pushed by an unseen hand.

Tara’s brow narrowed. She certainly felt pushed by the invisible force of the Pythia’s will. Try as she might, she couldn’t see very deeply into the cloudy water. It seemed that shadows roiled beneath, too far below the surface to clearly discern.

In the distance, she could make out a dark line of land. The boat moved inexorably toward it. As they moved close to the dark land, Tara felt the sun grow hotter and hotter on her face. When she looked down, her hands were sunburned. It was as if the radiation extended from the black land growing on the horizon.

The black land filled her with dread. The lion in the boat growled, flattening his ears as the dark shoreline curved into sight. Tara’s skin crawled as they approached, and she feared setting foot on that black beach unarmed.

She turned to the back of the boat. No. She wouldn’t be unarmed. As the boat was propelled into the shallows, she reached for the swords. She pulled them out of the bottom of the hull, one after the other, slinging them over her shoulder.

Where she wrested the swords out, holes were exposed in the bottom of the boat. Water began to trickle in. The lion growled, clambering to the prow of the boat, balancing with his butt on the seat and paws on the edge. Tara sloshed back, nearly losing her balance with her burden of swords. Where the cloudy water touched her, it felt ice cold, cold as if sun had never touched it. The water pooled and rolled in the bottom of the boat like mercury or some unnatural element that was reaching out to drown them.

Tara twisted around in the boat. The shoreline was almost upon them. Black sand gave way to charred trees, twisted and turned at odd angles. The grasses below them were wild and ragged, blackened under the touch of that relentless, invisible heat that radiated from the land.

Cold water licked at her skirts, and the boat’s course began to falter and founder. Picking up her skirts with one hand and the swords under the other arm, Tara stepped off into the water.

The water closed over her and drove the breath from her lungs. She clawed to the surface, but the swords were heavy, pulling her down into the sea.

Something in the water bit her. She struggled, but the creature held her fast in its jaws, dragging her through the shallow water and up into the sunlight, up onto the sand of the shore.

She fell on her hands and knees, dumping the swords before her and gasping. Diluted blood from her shoulder dripped down into the water, staining the swords. Black sand was soft between her fingers, tasting metallic in her mouth. The soggy lion stood over her, tail switching, staring down the beach …

… where a figure stood at the edge of the forest. In this dazzling light, she couldn’t distinguish it.

Tara didn’t know if it was blood loss or the blinding brightness, but the image faded, consumed in a roar of golden light.

T
ARA WOKE UP WITH
O
SCAR STRETCHED OUT ON HER CHEST
, his face buried in the crook of her shoulder and her jaw. The sunlight had faded from the glass beads in the windows, and night had washed in. Cassie lay asleep beside her, and the loft was quiet. She was freezing, despite the warmth of the cat on her and thick covers drawn up to her chin.

Tara disentangled herself from the cat and climbed out of bed. Oscar burrowed under the covers into Cassie’s armpit. At the foot of the bed, Maggie looked up at her. Tara could see the questioning whites of her eyes in the dim light. But Maggie didn’t react when Tara padded around the corner of the bed and left the room.

The skylights overhead cast squares of lighter darkness on the polished floor. Tara skirted around their edges, made her way to the balcony. She unlocked the door, stepped out into the warmth of night. City lights spread as far as the eye could see, reflected in the black water of the marina. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the deck boards under her bare feet. It was nothing like the scorching heat of the sun in her dream, but it served to chase a bit of the trance-chill from her bones.

She smelled cigarette smoke. Her mind immediately flashed on the Pythia. Her eyes snapped open, and she turned to see the glowing ember of the cigarette in the darkness.

It wasn’t the Pythia, though. It was just the Cowboy, sitting in a plastic deck chair in the darkest shade of the building, smoking a cigarette.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” the Cowboy said, taking another drag.

Tara relaxed. “What are you doing out here in the dark?”

The Cowboy shrugged. “Light draws bugs.” He reached down beside the chair and picked up a thick yellow envelope. “Courier dropped this off for you a little while ago.”

Tara took the envelope, stared at it. There was no return address on it from the courier service. She ripped it open. The envelope contained no explanatory note. But it included an itinerary, train tickets, three stacks of foreign currency in various denominations, mostly Ukrainian hryvnia. And flight information for a plane leaving three hours from now from Baltimore. Baltimore was the nearest airport still open for business; both Dulles and Reagan National had closed down in light of the attack.

Her blood curdled. This was from the Pythia. She knew Tara was here.

And she knew Cassie was here.

“That from Cassie’s crazy aunt?” the Cowboy’s voice issued out from under the brim of his hat.

“Yeah. It’s from her. How’d you know?”

“The crazy aunt seems pretty persistent.” The Cowboy blew a wreath of smoke in the direction of the water, kicked his boots up on the balcony railing. He had the attitude of a man waiting for a story.

“She’s dangerous,” Tara said. “But she’s promised to leave Cassie alone. For now, anyway.”

“Dangerous in what way?” The shadow of the hat inclined toward Tara.

“She’s got a lot of money. A lot of power. And a massive network of knowledge available to her.” Tara lifted the envelope. “This is proof.”

The Cowboy nodded toward the envelope. “What does she want?”

“She wants me to go chase down the man who sold the information that made the bombing possible.”

“Deep pockets.”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna go?”

“I have to.” Tara’s mouth tightened. “But I don’t like the idea of leaving Cassie behind.”

“We aren’t going to let anyone hurt the little squirt.” The Cowboy’s hat dipped. “We’ll take care of her till you get back.”

Tara was humbled. “Thank you. I mean it. I owe you guys …”

The Cowboy waved away her thanks. “I’ve got a daughter about her age. Fiesty, like her. Takes after the ex, traipsing around third-world countries, looking for artifacts and such.” The hat shook ruefully. “I’ll watch over her like she was my own.”

“Thank you.”

“Does Harry know about this?”

Tara bit her lip, stared out at the water. “He knows about the crazy aunt, but he doesn’t know that I’m leaving.”

“He won’t like that.”

“Trust me. He doesn’t want to get tangled up with her crazy aunt any more than he already is.”

The Cowboy shrugged. “That’s not what I mean. When Steve and Harry and I were out in the desert chasing those damn critters, he talked a lot about you.”