Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [66]
“You got it, Sammy.”
I grabbed my skateboard and left.
I bumped into Mrs. W on my way out.
“Face is healing nicely, my boy.” She opened her purse and pawed around for her keys. “What’s on the schedule for tonight? A little skullduggery, I hope.”
I pushed the elevator button and laughed.
“I don’t even know what that means, Mrs. W.”
She tsked as she pulled out her keys. “What are they teaching the youth these days?”
“Not enough, I guess.” The door dinged and opened. “Catch you later.”
“Do me a favor, will you?”
I put my board in front of the door, keeping the elevator open. “Sure.”
“Meet a nice girl and do some not-so-nice things, okay?”
I let the door go. “Sure thing, Mrs. W.”
“Make me proud, son. That’s all I ask.”
The streets were bone-dry, which made me happy. Too much water and all you have is a warped board and wet feet. I can’t skate like Ramon can. I can’t do any fancy tricks, but getting from point A to point B was enough tonight. There was nowhere I needed to be, not right then. Things I needed to do, sure, but what? In so many ways I literally had no direction. But with my board, I didn’t need one. The only goal was to clear my head. I walked out of the parking lot, let go of my board, and chose the hill to my left, more for its smoothness than the direction. I pushed off with my foot and headed down.
I passed a few house parties as I went. Some were the mixed-CD type; a few were the band-in-the-basement type. I favored the latter. Music is a big thing in Seattle. We don’t get heavy rain, but we get it frequently, and there are some springs when you don’t see dry skies for weeks. You add the wet to the chill in the air, and it can get kind of unpleasant. So we have lots of indoor activities like watching a local band in somebody’s basement. Between the hot press of bodies and a couple of smuggled beers, it’s easy to forget about the weather. Tonight I wasn’t very tempted to crash, so I skated past even the promising-looking shindigs.
Though spring had arrived on the calendar, the air still held a little of winter’s bite. I felt the cold nip at my face, and I focused on it. I heard the sound of cars and people. I watched as neon and lights slid by. I kept my focus on the city at night and let everything else go. I didn’t want to think about anything. I just wanted to feel.
The last thing I felt was someone grabbing me as I slowed down at a crosswalk.
18
Don’t Rock the Boat, Baby
The van door hissed as it slid open. Douglas watched, keeping his face a bland mask as Michael tossed Sam unceremoniously into the back seat. Michael jumped in and shut the door behind himself, plunging the interior into darkness. Douglas shifted the van into gear and pulled away from the curb.
“Please remember to buckle him in. It wouldn’t do to kidnap him only to let him die in a random mishap,” he said. He heard a grunt from Michael and a thump as Michael pushed the boy’s inert body to the floor. “Or,” Douglas said, his voice flat, “I guess you could just do that.”
“I’ve done this before, you know.”
Douglas glanced into the rearview mirror, catching Michael’s unpleasant grin in the flash of the passing lights.
“You really don’t like him, do you?”
Michael frowned. “Do you?”
Douglas changed lanes, keeping a wide berth between the van and the car in front of them. “My personal feelings toward people are not a component that I consider.” His gaze returned to the rearview mirror again. “It’s one of the many reasons I’m able to stomach you as an employee.”
Douglas winced inwardly at the bark of laughter from the back seat. He supposed it was a good thing that Michael assumed he’d been making a joke. Douglas didn’t doubt his superiority over Michael even for a second; still, a fight with him would be inconvenient. Douglas found werewolves to be a mercurial bunch on the whole,