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He was at the abandoned school, smoking under the portico, when I arrived. As I walked up, backpack in hand, he tossed the half-smoked cigarette down and crushed it out with the toe of his boot.
“Let’s get this bullshit over with,” he said with an ugly curl of his lip. “Some of us have real work to do.”
I dropped the pack beside a nearby bench then sat, deliberately letting him have the advantage of height. Boudreaux’s career as a cop had been far from stellar, but the one thing no one could knock him for was his ability to get information and confessions out of suspects. It wasn’t coercion either. There’d been a number of times when he’d interviewed a suspect and then come out and said the guy didn’t do it. Didn’t always go over well with the brass, especially when they were looking to make a fast arrest and close the case, but Boudreaux was always right.
I’d felt the force of his little knack for myself a few months ago, when I was arrested for the murder of J.M. Farouche. I’d resisted Boudreaux’s influence at the time, but it had been hard as hell to hold back the unfiltered truth.
It was going to be even harder for him to finally hear it. Boudreaux had been a skinny kid with an amazing way with horses and big dreams of being a jockey, and James Macklin Farouche had been his mentor and benefactor. After Boudreaux nearly died in a racing accident, Farouche had moved heaven and earth to make sure he recovered as fully as possible, and even built him a house right by the stables. He’d been Boudreaux’s idol, and for good reason.
And now I opened up to Boudreaux’s influence, embraced the urge to unburden myself and told Boudreaux that, just as he had a special knack for gleaning the truth, this man he worshipped had also possessed a knack—one that allowed him to instill paralyzing fear in others. I went on to describe how Farouche had wielded his talent to influence, coerce, and terrorize other knack-gifted people to do his bidding, including kidnap, torture, and murder. And then I explained how Angus McDunn, who’d served as Farouche’s right-hand man, used his own talent to enhance those knacks. Or, in my case, diminish.
As I spoke, Boudreaux’s cocky sneer flickered and faded. I paused at intervals to give him a chance to stop me, but though his eyes filled with increasing anguish, he kept signaling me to continue.
I told him about the women Farouche had ordered kidnapped, and how I took the place of a targeted victim to infiltrate the plantation and rescue Idris Palatino.
I told him about the Mraztur using the valve node at the plantation to come to Earth, and of the resulting battle.
I told him how Kadir dragged Farouche from the mansion, looked deep into his mind, and declared his life forfeit.
I told him how Bryce, ex-hitman for Farouche, intervened and claimed the right of vengeance, and how Farouche tried to influence Bryce in that moment and bring him back under his control.
I told him how I watched and did nothing while Bryce shot Farouche in the head.
And, finally, I admitted that, when Boudreaux had been frantic with worry about his missing mother, I’d purposefully withheld my suspicion that she’d fled with her husband, McDunn. At this, triumph flashed through the pain in Boudreaux’s eyes. Though it lasted only the merest fraction of an instant, it was enough to tell me that he knew something of the current whereabouts of McDunn and his mother.
I fell silent. The urge to speak was gone because there was nothing left to say. Boudreaux stood like a statue, looking at a spot on the wall behind me. The anguished expression was gone. Now he simply looked bleak.
“Boudreaux, I—”
“You’ll have your volunteers,” he said in a voice scraped raw.
I had to hand it to him—he didn’t like the truth one bit, but he wasn’t one to welch on a deal. “We’re rolling out to ground zero in less than fifteen, but I know it’ll take longer to get horses ready, especially with this.” I shoved the backpack forward with my foot. “There’s a . . . magic radiation at ground zero that’ll mutate just about everything, but the stuff in here blocks its effects. You and your people need to wear the bracelets against the skin. I suggest duct taping them down. There’s some for the horses and the dog, too. It all needs to be securely in place before y’all head to ground zero.”
He fished one of the crude wire bracelets from the bag and eyed it doubtfully. “I thought you said we were dealing with an incursion?”
“I lied. We’re going there to save the world.”
His gaze snapped up to mine. “Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.” I pushed to my feet. “Get your people ready as soon as you can so you don’t miss the fun.”
Chapter 44
An eerie quiet enveloped downtown Beaulac, as it had since a week after t
he valve explosion, when demon incursions put an end to search and rescue operations. Though at least by that time there’d been no more hope of finding anyone alive.
Cleanup efforts had, of course, never begun. Rubble remained where it had fallen. Broken glass glittered in the sun, and cars remained where they’d been abandoned.
As our vehicles neared the quarter mile perimeter of the valve, I ordered a halt. The color and texture ahead was wrong. I scanned with my binoculars, suddenly very glad I’d stopped the convoy.
It was like gazing into an alien landscape. The twisted and broken concrete looked as if it was covered with an undulating snot-green mold, and crimson vines snaked over everything like capillaries. And everywhere, movement. Rats? Inky black shiny rats?
We’d stopped near what was left of the First Bank of Beaulac, a good fifty yards from the edge of the weirdness. Elinor and Turek remained in the vehicles while everyone else piled out. Alpha and Bravo squads hustled into formation on the cracked sidewalk.
“Don’t engage unless you have to,” I told them. “But if you do, hit ’em fast and hard. Your primary job is to keep the demons away from us. Except for this one.” I signaled Turek to come out of the APC. He’d very reluctantly donned a bright red XXL “SuperSwole Gym” t-shirt—with the sides slit to accommodate his massive chest and multiple arms, and the neck widened for his big head. He’d acquiesced only after I explained that precious few humans would be able to tell him apart from any other savik. Hell, there were still plenty who couldn’t tell a kehza from a reyza. “He’s an ally,” I continued, “and the only demon you’ll see out there wearing a red shirt. Do not shoot him.” I paused to let the message sink in before continuing. “Bravo squad will approach the valve from the east with Idris and Pellini as arcane support. Alpha will move straight in from here along with my team. Once we reach ground zero, Idris and Pellini will close down the valve and stop the mutagen flow. My team and I will be working close by. I don’t know what’s going to happen when we start adjusting the valve, so be prepared for anything.” That was the closest I could come to warning them that we were walking into a trap set by an increasingly unscrupulous demahnk.
As soon as Bravo squad moved out, Bryce ushered Elinor from our vehicle, making sure she kept her face hidden within the borrowed hoodie. We needed to keep her presence secret until it was time to reveal her as Xharbek bait, and the makkas bracelet she wore only blocked arcane sensing. Beneath the hoodie, she had on a set of my combat fatigues along with a pair of my boots—an outfit that had thrilled her to pieces but would also hopefully fool any demonic watchers in the area.
