Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [158]
“Where?” I asked.
“Between Santa Fe and Albuquerque, though it began closer to Santa Fe.”
“It’s moving closer to Albuquerque, to you,” I said.
For the first time he looked uncertain, not quite afraid, but not happy either. “It knows that I am here. I have felt that, too.” He stared up at me, and now there was no teasing in his eyes. “It knows that you are here, too, Anita. It knows you are here, too.”
I nodded. “We might be able to help each other, Nicky. I’ve seen the bodies. I’ve seen what this thing does. Trust me, Nicky. You don’t want to go out that way.”
“What do you propose?” he asked.
“That we pool our resources and see if we can stop this thing before it gets here, to you. And that we stop playing games. No more teasing. No more power plays.”
“Just business between us?” he said.
I nodded. “We don’t have time for anything else, Baco.”
“Come back later tonight, and I will do what I can to help you. Though the police will not want you to share information with me. I am a very bad man, you know.”
I smiled. “You’re a bad man, Nicky, but not a stupid one. You need me.”
“As you need me, Anita,” he said.
“Two necromancers are better than one,” I said.
He nodded, face solemn. “Come back tonight when you are finished with your police business. I will be waiting.”
“It may be late,” I said.
“It is already later than you think, Anita. Pray, if you are the praying sort, that it is not too late.”
“Anita?” Bernardo said.
“We’re going.” I let Bernardo back us out the door, his hand on my shoulder guiding me backwards. I got to watch the room, trusting him to make sure nothing was coming up behind us through the door. The werewolves just watched us, not happy, but willing to take orders. Baco had to be their vargamor, their resident witch. I’d just never met a pack that feared its vargamor before.
It was Paulina’s face that stayed with me. She was staring at Baco, and the hatred on her face was raw. I knew in that instant that once she had loved him, really loved him, because only true love could twist to such hatred. I’d looked into Paulina’s eyes across the barrel of a gun. I think Nicky Baco had more problems than just monsters in the desert. If I were him, I’d be sleeping with a gun.
38
WE ARRIVED AT THE hospital with the world wrapped in a heavy blue dusk. A twilight so solid it was like cloth, something you could wrap around your hands or wear like a dress. I’d called ahead using Ramirez’ cell phone. How do you prove that someone is really dead? I’d seen the “survivors.” They drew breath. I assumed they had a heartbeat or the doctors would have mentioned it. Their eyes looked at you and seemed to be aware. They reacted to pain. They were alive.
But what if they weren’t? What if they were only vessels for a power that made Nicky Baco and I look like backstreet charlatans? There might have been a spell to prove it, but you couldn’t take the results of a spell to court and get permission to burn the bodies. And that was what I wanted.
I finally came up with brain waves. I was betting that the higher functions of the brain weren’t working. It was the only thing I could think of that might show that something was wrong with the survivors other than not having skin and missing body parts.
Unfortunately, Doctor Evans and company had done monitored brain-wave activity long ago. They all had higher brain functions. So much for my brilliant idea. Doctor Evans had wanted to talk in the doctor’s lounge, but I’d insisted we talk closer to the survivors’ room than that. We talked in low tones in the hallway. He wouldn’t let me talk in front of the survivors about the fact that they might be dead. Because if I was wrong, it might cause them distress. He had a point. But I didn’t think I was wrong.
The survivors already at the hospital had become agitated and violent, snapping at the hospital staff like dogs on chains. No one had been hurt, but the timing coincided with the last murders. Why had the skinned ones been more violent? Was it the spell used to banish whatever it was from the home?