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He reached inside, fumbled with something, and drew out a moment later with what Jem took, at first glance, to be a rifle. Something about the shape was wrong, though, and a moment later he decided it had to be the dart gun. Rod fooled with it for a moment. Then his head came up, and his eyes widened when he saw Jem. He dropped the dart gun and went for the gun at his side, but the baggy Pantera tee was in his way, and for a single moment, he had forgotten about that.
It cost him. That moment let Jem put on the gas, and he bounded forward, closing the last of the distance between them. Rod rucked up his shirt, and his hand went to the gun. He got it free. He started to bring the muzzle up toward Jem.
Jem spun the sock once, building up speed. Then he struck. Cotton stretched. The loose jumble of rocks inside pulled on him, suddenly heavier than they’d been a moment before. Then they made contact with the side of Rod’s head. Rod’s eyes rolled back. His legs bent at the knees, and Jem had the thought that it looked like Rod was doing one of those dances, the Russian one, where you kick your legs out while you’re squatting. Then Rod fell over backward, and the gun bounced on the grass, and he didn’t move.
“Fucking piece of shit!” Jem shouted, only barely aware that the distance had decreased the volume of the music, only barely aware that he was screaming down into Rod’s face. “Fucking take that, motherfucker!”
“Jem!”
Jem spun. Tean’s face was white, his eyes wide. He was crouched next to the dart gun. A prickle climbed Jem’s spine. He tried to breathe, but there wasn’t any air, not anymore.
“Don’t move,” Tean whispered. “When I tell you, get inside.”
The far-off beat of the music continued. Jem strained to hear something else: the padding of giant paws, the whisper of the grass, the rumble of a growl just being born. He’d seenA Ghost in the Darkness. That was lions, but still, the principle—
“Go!” Tean shouted.
Jem jumped over Rod’s body, grabbed the door, and yanked it open. Then he stopped.
Tean knelt with the dart gun braced against his shoulder. He fired once, twice, a third time. Even over the music, the psst of compressed air punctuated each shot.
“Tean!” Jem shouted.
Tean scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the door. He might have made it if Rod hadn’t been there, but he wasn’t looking, and he caught Rod’s legs with one foot, and he stumbled.
Sita surged out of the darkness. A demon, Jem thought. Humans had believed, for a long time, that demons took this shape. She was nothing but an impression of power, an outline of savage strength sketched against the deeper darkness of the night. Her eyes burned with green fire.
Jem lunged forward, caught Tean’s shirt with both hands, and hauled him forward—up and forward, actually, pulling so hard that Tean’s feet left the ground. They fell backward into the welcome center, and the door began to shut on its pneumatic closer.
Slowly.
A massive weight struck the door and hammered it shut.
Outside, in the dark, Sita roared her fury.
Another blow came, the thud of a massive body striking the door.
Metal squealed. Claws. Jem visualized those huge claws raking the door. He clutched Tean to him. Something primal had taken over inside him—the city boy had been scraped away, all the tricks and games gone, and what was left was the thing that knew only fire and shadow and the ferocity of teeth and muscle.
Then nothing.
Then a minute of nothing.
Jem held on to Tean. The shakes surfaced, and he rode them out, and he listened.
It was a long time before he believed the silence.
24
“The motherfucker got what he deserved,” Jem said and took another drink of his beer.
“He got what he deserved,” Shaw repeated at full volume, directing the words toward North.
North looked like a man about to commit murder.
It was Monday afternoon, and most of the conference-goers had abandoned Santaland—the conference was over, and while a few had stayed because of some ghoulish fascination, the resort still felt empty by comparison. In one of the hotel bars, Tean nursed a Diet Coke. North had pointed Jem to a local beer, and Theo and Auggie had gone that route as well. Emery had ordered a Guinness, of all things, and John-Henry had followed Tean’s example. Shaw had come back from the bar with one of the refill pitchers, which he had somehow convinced the bartender to fill with Coke. At least seven times now, by Tean’s count, he had called it his victory stein.
They had spent the rest of Sunday night and a fair part of Monday morning being interviewed by Jonas Cassidy. There had been a lot to explain: not only Rod’s role in the deaths of Yesenia and Una, along with the land deal that had drawn Heather into the investigation and ultimately led to Yesenia’s death, but also the connection to an animal trafficking ring, the fight at the sanctuary, Sita’s escape, and the deaths of two more men. When the police had arrived, they had found Sita sedated. Before the drugs had taken effect, though, she had bitten down on Rod’s neck. He had bled out before emergency responders had arrived.
