Wild Ride (27 page)

Glenda nodded. “Then get Fufluns' chalice repaired and get him back.”

“Chalice?” Weaver said.

“Ancient wood cup that traps Untouchables,” Ethan said. “Fufluns is the trickster.”

“Okay,” Weaver said.

Glenda went on. “And stop Ray, whatever he's doing, but don't let him know we know he's in league with Kharos. Once Kharos knows we're on to Ray, he'll get another flunky and we won't know who he is.” She thought over what she'd just said and then nodded. “Those are the big fixes. After that, we can mop up the minion demons.” She stood up. “I'll go warn Gus that the minions are after him; he's probably at the Dragon. You warn Mab. She's in Delpha's tent telling fortunes, so she's probably okay for the moment, but let her know.”

Ethan nodded. “So I say, ‘Mab, your uncle's made a deal with a devil, and he's trying to kill you'?”

“Yes.”

“Mab is Ray's niece?” Weaver said. “Can we trust her?”

“Yes,” Ethan said. “She's Guardia, so she can't hurt us. Guardia can't harm other Guardia.”

“Can't harm them,” Weaver said. “Is that just physically, or does that mean she can't betray you, either?”

“Mab wouldn't,” Glenda said firmly. “Delpha trusted her. Delpha never made mistakes.”

“So we go warn Mab.” Weaver stood up. “Thank you very much for accepting me, Mrs. Wayne.”

She held out her hand, and Glenda looked at it for a moment, and then she took it.

“Stop Ray,” she said, and they left the trailer to go warn Mab.

“I say we just shoot him,” Weaver said. “Evil bastard, trying to unleash the Devil on earth.”

“You heard Mom. Ray's the Devil we know. We go after the demons first. Which reminds me. Can I have a D-gun now?”

“Maybe,” Weaver said.

Well, the good news was that his mother and Weaver were now talking, Ethan thought as he followed her.

Then he stopped.

That was good news depending on what they talked about.

“You didn't like my mother that much, right?” he said, and followed Weaver down the path to the midway.

 

F
our hours after her first customer, Mab's skills were sharpening enough that she was getting pictures and words, as if somebody were whispering in her head, along with all the emotions her clients were feeling. And they were all seething with emotion, usually about relationships. At first she thought she'd just gotten a lot of excitable people, but as the day wore on, she realized it was part of being human, emotions zinging around inside you like pinballs even if you thought you were calm. And going to a psychic didn't calm people down any; a lot of them were thinking
Don't think that
, hoping she wouldn't pick up on their loudest needs.

It was exhausting.

“I don't know how you stood this,” she said to the urn, and then the next customer came in, a guy who had his tie on in the middle of an amusement park. “I have a business question,” he said, sitting down.

“No kidding,” Mab said. “Ten bucks.”

“That's a lot of money.”

“You can take it back if you don't think what I say is true,” Mab said, and watched a greedy light appear in his eyes.

In the rafters above, Frankie cawed and spread his wings.

“That's fair enough,” he said, and put two fives on the table. “What can you tell me about my business dealings?”

“I can tell you that you're planning on telling me that you don't believe me even if you do so that you can take your ten bucks back.”

The guy pulled back a little. “Your psychic abilities tell you that?” he said, a sneer in his voice.

“No, my vast experience with human nature tells me that.” Mab reached out. “Give me your hand.”

He gave her his right hand, and she said, “Other one,” so he switched hands.

She pressed her palm to his and saw . . . nothing. A great yawning void. “Huh, you may be getting that ten back legitimately. Let me try the other one after all.”

The guy rolled his eyes and gave her his right hand, and this time when she pressed her palm to his, feelings rolled over her, seething needs, slithering little intents, and oppressive greed, and then a vision of him shaking hands with three other men. . . . “You're cheating your business partners.” She looked up at him. “Wouldn't you think people would be smarter about that stuff now?”

“You don't know that,” the guy said, trying to take his hand back.

Mab held on. “No, but you know it and that's what I hear, what you know. What was your question?”

The man stopped struggling. “I just want to know if my
business dealings
will be successful.”

“The future,” Mab said. “Well, the future is iffy. Lots of choices to be made. But if things continue the way they are now . . .” She got a flash of him in a Mercedes, confident and proud. “. . . you'll be driving a Mercedes.”

The man relaxed. “Well, that's good to know, not that I believe in this stuff.”

The self-satisfaction rolled off him, no guilt at all, and Mab said, “Of course, that's in this lifetime.”

“What?”

“After you die, you're going to hell for being a dishonest bastard, and you'll burn for eternity.”

The guy snatched his hand back. “I don't believe in hell.”

“Most people don't until they get there.” Mab smiled at him. “Of course, if you stop lying and cheating, you can probably redeem yourself. If not, have them put marshmallows in your coffin. There's a bright side to everything, I always say.”

“That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,” the man said, and turned to go. Then he turned back and reached for the two fives on the table.

“You really don't believe a word I've said?” Mab said, looking at him with cool eyes. “Remember where lying's going to get you, Snowball.”

The man really wanted to pick up those two fives, Mab could tell he wanted to, but he pulled his hand back and walked out.

“I made up the part about hell,” Mab said to Frankie after the guy had closed the sliding doors. “But I'm pretty sure I was right anyway.”

The doors slid open, and Ray came in carrying a Styrofoam cup with a lid on it, a cigar chomped between his teeth. Frankie cawed again.

“Speak of the Devil,” Mab said, taken aback. “You want your fortune read?”

“No.” He smiled down at her. “So, I don't suppose you've changed your mind about selling?”

“No.” Mab squinted at him. “Are you losing your hair?”

“No,” Ray said, sounding surly. “The light in here is bad. Did you sign that will yet?”

“Ray, I'm not accepting Delpha's legacy, so I have nothing to leave anybody. There's no point in my making a will.”

He nodded as if he wasn't surprised, and then glanced at his hand and seemed to remember he was holding a cup. “Almost forgot. Cindy sent you some tea.”

“Thank you,” Mab said, taking the cup. She cracked the lid and sniffed it. Odd. She made a face.

“It's some kind of herbal gunk,” Ray said around his cigar. “She said it was full of vitamins, keep you from getting sick out here in the cold.”

“Okay.” Mab put the lid back on the cup and set it to one side. “Sit down, I'll read your palm. Tell you how your business is going to do.”

“Very funny. Drink your tea.”

“No, trust me, it turns out I really can do this.” Mab held out her hand. “Give me your hand, I'll tell your future.”

“No.” He hesitated, and then he took the cigar out of his mouth and added, “You're a good girl, Mab,” and walked out.

“What are you talking about?” Mab called after him, and then a woman came through the open doors, a ten-dollar bill in her hand, leaving the sliding doors open behind her.

“I want to know about my boyfriend,” she said as she sat down.

“Imagine my surprise,” Mab said, and pulled the cup of tea in front of her. “Sit down and—”

Ethan knocked on the side of the tent and came in, and Frankie gave a caw from his roost in the rafters, startling the woman, who hadn't noticed him.

“I'm kind of in the middle of something here,” Mab said.

“We need to talk to you,” he said as Weaver followed him in.

“Oh,” Mab said. “Hi, Weaver.”

Weaver folded her arms. “Army Barbie?”

Mab returned the smile. “I'm sure you've thought of worse for me. Now as you see, this lovely woman would like her fortune told—”

Ethan nodded at the woman. “Park security, ma'am. If you could give us a minute.”

The woman looked at Mab. “It's drugs, isn't it?”

“No, she just acts like she's on drugs,” Ethan said, and the woman got up and left, not happy.

“Good thing I don't make my living doing this,” Mab said, reaching for her tea. “I'd be
annoyed.
”

Frankie swooped down low across the table and grabbed at the cup with his claws, spilling hot liquid everywhere.

“Frankie!” Mab said, yanking her shawl away from the spill. “Damn.”

“Where'd you get the tea?” Ethan said.

“Ray brought it. . . .” Mab's voice trailed off at the look on his face.

“Your uncle's trying to kill you,” Ethan said. “Did he bring you anything else? What's in the jug?”

“Jug?” Mab looked at the urn. “That's Delpha. Why is Ray trying to kill me?”

Ethan frowned at the urn and then evidently decided to let that one ride. “He's trying to kill all of us. He's made a deal with the Devil, Kharos, and that's part of it.”

“I see,” Mab said, and pushed herself past
Are you out of your mind?
to genuinely consider it, since most of what she considered rational had gone by the wayside in the past week. “The Devil. Huh.” She looked at the cup on the ground where Frankie had dropped it.

“That bird is smarter than you are,” Weaver said.

“Probably.” Mab looked up to the rafters. “Sorry I yelled. Thanks for saving my life.”

Frankie spread his wings and moved from foot to foot, then settled back down to sleep.

“Be careful,” Ethan told Mab. “Don't wander around outside after dark. Don't go anywhere alone. Lock your doors and windows—”

“It's that bad?” Mab said, realizing that he was serious. “He's stalking us all? You know, he was an Army Ranger, he probably knows how to kill people with his little finger or something.”

“He'll send minion demons,” Weaver said. “They're evil little bastards that can possess anything, so watch your surroundings at all times.”

“There's more than one kind of demon?” Mab said.

“Oh, yeah,” Weaver said. “Incubi, succubi, marching hordes—”

“You're a demon
expert
?” Mab said, incredulous.

“I've done my research.”

“Research?” Mab lost her breath for a moment at the idea of having demon research already done for her. “Can I look at this research?”

Weaver looked at Ethan, who nodded. “Well, sure. My partner is the real researcher, though. I'll introduce you.”

“I apologize for ‘Army Barbie,' ” Mab said.

“Just be
careful
,” Ethan said, and then they left and she wanted to say,
Wait, come back, don't leave me
, which was a new thing for her to want from Ethan, let alone Weaver.

Another woman came in and sat down.

“Hi,” Mab said, still distracted by the news that she was marked for death by demons and her uncle. “Uh, you want to know about your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” the woman said, startled. “How did you know?”

“I'm psychic,” Mab said. “Give me your hand.”

 

W
hen Weaver came back at six, she brought Ethan a D-gun.

“Thank you,” he said. “Ammo?”

She passed over a heavy bag, and he took it.

“That's yours to keep. Screw Ursula.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said.

“I want to go with you tonight on the capture,” she went on. “I won't interfere, but I want to see what happens with the Untouchables.”

Ethan hesitated—Glenda wouldn't be happy—and then hefted the bag of ammo. She'd set him up well, but . . . “No goggles?”

She shook her head.

“Okay.” He felt the balance of the gun in his hand. It was a good one. “Come on, I'll show you the plan.”

After unlocking the cars, he took her into the Tunnel behind the scrim until they reached the Antony and Cleopatra diorama, then waited until the last boat had gone past and showed her the way into the diorama through a split in the backdrop.

“I've been here before, you know,” she said when she was through the scrim. “Saving your ass.”

“Right,” Ethan said. “We'll wait here. Young Fred will have replaced whatever cheating idiot Tura has zeroed in on. They'll float by here, and that's when Fred will change back into Fred and say, ‘Frustro,' and the spirit will leap.”

“Frustro?” Weaver frowned. “I disappoint?”

“Never,” Ethan said.

“I deceive, I trick—”

“That's it, trick. Then Mab is supposed to freeze the spirit by saying, ‘Specto'—”

“I spy?” Weaver said, snorting.

“But since she's not with us, I'm going to have to try to grab Tura without that. I did it with Selvans, but he moves slow. Tura is fast.” He remembered the last time she'd possessed him, slamming into him and grabbing his heart. “Then Glenda puts her into the chalice and Gus seals it, and we're done.”

“No shooting?” Weaver said.

“No. We're classier than that. We just say a lot of Latin and sock their asses into wood cups.”

“Why not just shoot them?”

“Because you can't kill an Untouchable.”