The Iron Hunt (19 page)

“Then
this art gallery is just a place for her to exhibit?” I found myself unable to
look away from the painting. “I’m surprised she isn’t more famous.”

“And
what is fame to a unicorn?” said Sarai, appearing from the side door. Two thick
silver braids framed her face, and her skin seemed to glow from within. I had
as much trouble looking away from her as I did from the painting. Sarai glanced
at the young woman. “Linn, you can take the rest of the day off. I’ll be
closing early.”

No
arguments, no hesitation. The blonde smiled at me, grabbed her purse, and
almost ran out the door. Sarai locked it. A hush descended upon the room.

“Thank
you for coming back,” she said. “And for your understanding.”

“Don’t
thank me yet,” I replied. “Things are getting out of hand. I had an encounter
this morning with a creature… a
nonhuman
creature… who knows you and
Jack. Called you old friends.”

Saying
that much to a stranger felt like an invitation to be called crazy, but Sarai
remained silently thoughtful, with little reaction to judge. She turned her
head, just so, and stared out the gallery window at the street. We were near
Pike Place Market. I saw brick and flowerpots. The sky was blue, and the sun
shot bars of white across the clean wood floor. I looked behind me and met the
gaze of a unicorn in the sea, fighting for shore, against bullets and blood.

I
waited for Sarai to say something, anything, but she never did. So I took a
moment to get my bearings, rest my mind. Sarai was a hard woman to read, but
there was enough steel in her eyes, in the way she moved, to erase any doubt
that this was a woman who needed watching. Like a hawk.

“You’re
talented,” I said.
You are hiding something
.

“I’m
patient,” she replied. “I’ve had years to hone my craft.”

“Why
unicorns?”
Why do you know me?

“Do
you find them childish?”

“Not
the way you depict them.”

“Good,”
she said. “Let’s go find Jack.”

Compared
to the bright sunlit interior of the gallery, Jack’s office felt like the cave
of some mountain hermit, an intellectual scavenger hoarding words and paper and
books as though preparing for the long starvation of an endless dreary winter.
I loved it. Felt comfy, like having my mind and spirit cushioned by good strong
things. I would have made an excellent recluse.

Jack
was seated in the middle of the path, perched precariously on a wobbly stool
far too small for a man his size. His knees pressed against stacks of books. He
had books open in his lap. A book in his hands. He looked up when Sarai and I
walked in, and his smile was warm. Despite all my questions—and fear—I felt a
small thrill seeing him.

“My
dear girl,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Morning,”
I replied. “But not good.”

I
repeated again what I had told Sarai, though with more details. I was not
entirely certain how much I could say without blowing their minds, but given
the circumstances, I had a bad feeling that Jack Meddle and Sarai Soars knew a
great deal more about the state of the supernatural than even I did.

Jack’s
subdued reaction did nothing to change that opinion, which sent an unexpected
pang through me. My fantasy, stuck full of pins and needles. I had gone looking
for a grandfather, an archaeologist, a regular man who loved books and clutter
and digging in the dirt. And what I was getting instead, while perhaps all of
those things still, was something… far more complicated. And, perhaps, not as
pleasant.

Jack
closed his book and laid it on the table. A cup of tea sat on the floor in
front of his feet. He sipped it, slowly, eyes distant.

“Silence
is overrated,” I finally said, after counting, quite literally, to one hundred.

“Silence
is customary,” Sarai replied, “when one is thinking.”

I
shot her a look. “Think faster. Or better yet, just tell me the truth. You
shouldn’t have to think about that.”

“Just
like Jeannie,” Jack said, sighing. “I miss her.”

“You
miss them all,” Sarai muttered, but before I could question her, she said, “Did
you look at your mother’s gift, Maxine? Did you understand its meaning?”

I
could not believe what I was hearing. “You are both on the radar of a
demon
.
You understand what that means, don’t you? A demon who, very likely, is coming
to kill you. And you’re worried about a piece of rock?”

Sarai
frowned, which only seemed to enhance her beauty. “Humor me.”

I
wanted to keep arguing, but I had a feeling the older woman would win hands
down, simply through being too stubborn to live. I pulled the stone disc free
of my pocket and held it carefully. “A labyrinth. The warrior in the maze.
Faith.”

“Faith,”
said Jack, “is the cornerstone of all great endeavors. ”

“Faith
is fine,” I replied. “But truth greases the wheels. Now please, what is this
about? Why would a demon come looking for the both of you? And
why
was
Badelt investigating me?”

“Those
questions can wait,” Sarai said firmly. “Your mother left her gift to you for a
specific reason, one you should
not
ignore.”

I
hated that crisp arrogance in her voice, as though she thought I was five years
old, eager to please for a lollipop. I leaned in, bordering her personal space.
“My mother isn’t here. My mother is
dead
. And I just watched a boy get
his brains beaten in. A boy who knew Badelt. So don’t you dare tell me what
can, or cannot, wait. Because
other
people are getting hurt now. That
kid? He was warned not to speak to me.”

Jack
rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Is he at the hospital? ”

“Someone’s
watching him. Don’t change the subject.”

“How
could we?” Sarai asked bitterly. “You have invaded us. We can hardly escape.”

I
wanted to grab those braids and swing the woman around my head. “Who
are
you people?”

Jack
shared a long look with Sarai. “Friends to your family, my dear. Trusted
friends.”

“Trust,”
I echoed. “Isn’t that a funny word to use.”

“It
is the truth. You must believe that.”

I
wanted to. I wanted to believe a lot of things. “You want to know what I
believe? I believe you knew where I was. Before I found you last night, you
could have marched up to me
at any time
and said hello. But you didn’t.
You were afraid of something. So afraid, Sarai hired Badelt. She gave him my
name. She asked him to look into me. And he
died
for it. He was shot.
And for what?”

I
leaned in, anger building in my throat, a terrible, awful fury. “He was on the
Ave the night he died. He was talking to the homeless. And the only reason he
would have done that was if he hoped to find someone who had stayed at the
Coop. Someone who might have met me.” I stabbed my finger at Sarai. “You
already knew
what
I was, and where. You wanted Badelt to discover the
who.
”

Dead
silence. A cutting, morbid silence. Then, almost as an afterthought: “Told you.
Just like Jeannie.”

“Then
you can tattoo
her
name on your chest, as well,” Sarai snapped, braids
swinging. “And as for you, Maxine…” Her hands clenched like she wanted to hit
something, maybe me, and her little knuckles turned so white I thought
something was going to pop. “We knew where you lived. But not the person you
had grown into. And we needed to know. It was important. Brian was supposed to
find tendrils, rumors, distant enough that no one would have reported the
inquiries… but within a close enough circle for the truth.”

I
stared, incredulous. “You could have just introduced yourself. I’m not that
subtle.”

Jack
began to sip his tea, but his hand trembled, sloshing dark liquid over the rim.
“We promised your mother. No contact. Not unless you found us on your own.
Which… we would have arranged, if Brian’s death had not… sped up the process.”

Sarai
looked away. “Brian was killed as a message to me. A notice to stay away from
you. Or perhaps, like the boy, punishment for not.”

I
searched her face, but what few emotions I had seen last night were hidden away
so deep she might have been discussing the death of a stranger instead of her
ex-husband.

“A
demon killed him,” I said. “A demonic parasite, possessing a human. I’m certain
of it. And that… doesn’t surprise you. None of this does.”

“I
know Blood Mama’s ways,” Sarai muttered, surprising
me
. “She cares only
for herself. Even her children, she sacrifices. Killing one human man is
nothing to her. Less than an afterthought.”

I had
to sit down. I nearly knocked over a pile of books, but I balanced precariously
on the edge of the table and hung my head. The stone disc was warm in my hands.
I gazed down at the concentric lines: the singular, faithful path. Endure to
the end. One step at a time. Made me light-headed. Or maybe that was the cold
fear throbbing through my gut; a surging, awful, drowning fear. My entire life,
prepared in theory for the shit to hit the fan, and now that it had, all I
wanted to do was wring my proverbial hands and start chanting
I don’t know
what to do
like a religious mantra. I had no clue.

Focus.
Baby steps. One little nibble at a time. You can handle it. Eye on the prize.
Whatever the hell that might be. I had a lot to
choose from.

But
first: Blood Mama. The old demon queen did nothing without a good reason. She
was calculating to a fault. A little too in love with machinations. Bored
little queen. Who did not want me talking to Jack and Sarai. Friends of the
family.

“What,”
I asked slowly, “do you know that I shouldn’t?”

Jack
shifted slightly, his knees threatening to topple books. “Things your mother
could not tell you. Things she hoped you would never hear.”

Sarai’s
knuckles still strained white. “She was afraid for you. Of what would happen if
the veil opened.”

I
thought of the missing pages in her journal. “It opened last night. I
encountered what came through. That demon I spoke of. The one who knows you.”

The
old man teetered forward on his stool, knocking books from his lap. “Tell us.”

I
could not look at his face. It hurt too much. Here, the man I wanted to be my
grandfather—and he had known where I was. He had known, and not found me. Kept
secrets from me.

My
mother
had kept secrets. “She—
it
—looked like a younger version of me. Even down
to the outfit. Disappeared into smoke when I tried to stop it.” I met Jack’s
gaze. “You knew last night, though… didn’t you? You knew exactly what was
here.”

A
flush stained his cheeks. More tea sloshed, and I reached out, unable to help
myself, and took the cup from him. His breath seemed to catch when our hands
brushed, and his expression turned so very pained I wanted to get down and beg
him to tell me whether he was mine. But his fingers dug into his knees, and he
said, “I suspected. It would not be the first such visitor I’ve had, but there
was a… specific sensation about that particular presence. Familiar, you might
say.”

“So
you
do
know the demon who passed through the veil.” I set down the tea,
afraid my own hands would start shaking. “The prison was constructed almost ten
thousand years ago.”

“Longer
than that,” Sarai muttered, and Jack shushed her.

“Ten
thousand,” I said again, firmly. “And unless that demon has been popping in and
out at will over the past sixty years or so, I’d say it’s pretty darn unlikely
that the three of you are
old
friends.”

“Unless
we’re also… that old,” Jack said, weakly.

Fuck
it. I drank his hot tea, knocking back the drink in one hard swallow. I choked
on it and started coughing, tears streaming from my eyes. Jack reached out,
tentatively, but his hand stopped just short of patting my knee.

Sarai
looked mildly disgusted. “We don’t have time for this. You know what the little
skinner wants, Old Wolf.”

“My
only priority is Maxine,” he told her, an edge to his voice. His gaze flicked
to my cheek. My hair was down, covering the tattooed skin beneath my ear, but I
imagined he could see it anyway. “Besides, there was another.”

Glass
crunched. I looked down and found the teacup in my hand. In pieces. I exhaled,
slowly. Jack stood, towering over me, and pointed at Sarai. “Fetch a towel, if
you would.”

Her
jaw tightened, but she made her way down the narrow path between books,
disappearing into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, Jack leaned in
and whispered, “We
are
your friends, my dear. Whether you know it or
not. Your mother trusted us with your well-being.”

“My
mother should have told me.”

“She
had her reasons. Good ones.”

“And?”

“And
nothing, I’m afraid.” He looked away, cheeks still red. “Some things are out of
my control.”