The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [143]
Hope turned to dust in Travis's chest. Anna Ferraro had listened to him, but she couldn't help, and he doubted anyone else would believe him.
“Don't look now,” Ferraro muttered, “but here comes the goon squad.”
Travis turned to see a pair of thick-necked men in blue uniforms walking across the parking lot. For a terrified moment he thought they were police officers. Then he saw the patches on their uniforms; they were security guards. All the same, they carried guns.
“You were instructed to leave the property within fifteen minutes, Ms. Ferraro,” one of the guards said as they approached. “You're now trespassing. If you don't leave immediately, we'll call the police.”
She glared at him. “Cut the tough guy act, Ben. Believe me, I'm getting out of this dump.”
The other guard gazed at Travis, eyes suspicious. “Who are you?”
“A man who was kind enough to help me put my things in the trunk,” Ferraro said. “Unlike any of you, Ron.”
“You need to go now,” the first guard said, his eyes dark, without expression. “Both of you.” He reached for the cell phone clipped at his belt.
Ferraro jerked open the car door. “God, Ben, when did you turn into such a creep? You used to be a gentleman.”
The guard said nothing as he raised the phone. The logo emblazoned on the device glowed in the light of a nearby streetlamp: a white crescent moon merging into a capital D. A coldness spilled into Travis's gut. There was something about the monotonous way the guard talked, about the flatness of his eyes. Something wrong.
“You have to go, Anna,” Travis whispered. “Now.”
She met his gaze, then nodded. “Let me just give you a tip for helping me with the box,” she said—loudly, for the benefit of the two men. She rummaged in her purse, then pushed a crumpled piece of paper into his hand. He shoved it in his pocket.
Travis stepped away as she got into the car and shut the door. She rolled down the window and looked out. Her expression was still one of annoyance, but Travis saw the glint of fear in her eyes.
“Be careful,” she said, glancing past him.
“Don't worry about me,” he said with a sudden grin, and he tightened his grip around the box in his pocket.
Ferraro gave a grim nod. She hit the gas, and her car peeled out of the parking lot, speeding down Lincoln Street. Travis felt his grin crumble away, and he turned around.
“Who are you?” the first security guard, the one called Ben, said. His eyes were like black stones.
Travis shrugged. “She told you. Just a guy who was helping her with her box.”
“I don't believe you.”
“Come on, Ben,” the other guard said. “Leave him alone. He's just some homeless guy scrounging for tips.”
Ben shook his head. “I have to report this.” He punched a button on the phone. The crescent moon logo glowed in the dark, white as bones.
Fear flashed through Travis. He couldn't let them do this. He opened the box in his pocket, and his fingers brushed the smooth surface of one of the Stones—Sinfathisar by its cool touch. He pointed his other hand at the phone.
“Reth,” he said.
The phone shattered in the guard's grip. Shards of plastic traced red lines across his face, but he did not flinch.
The other guard did. “What the hell?” He grabbed for his gun with a shaking hand and pointed it at Travis. “I don't know what you just did, but you're coming with us.”
“No,” Travis said, then spoke another rune. “Dur.”
The gun flew up, striking the man on the bottom of his jaw. His eyes rolled up into his head, and without a sound he crumpled to the pavement.
The remaining guard, Ben, was watching him with his lifeless eyes. “I know who you are.”
Travis swallowed the sick lump in his throat. “And I know what you are. You gave it up for them,