“No,” he said.
“Well, if there’s no harm in the question, shoot.”
He glanced at Faysal, then back to her. “What’s the real reason you said no to me? It can’t just be your personality at work.”
“Ah,” she said.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I… I guess, when it comes down to it, you’ve got to fall back on what you know, you know?”
“I know.”
“And you told me your story, and you told me your agenda, and even though you left stuff out, I can sort of piece it all together. But at the end of the day, there’s only one guy that I know of who’s tempted any angels down a different path, and I bet he sounded awfully convincing too.”
Faysal tilted his head.
“Ouch,” Johannes said.
“Just saying.”
“My fault for asking,” he said.
She put one hand on Buttsack’s head and steered the goblin towards the door.
“Would that other guy wish you luck?” Johannes asked.
“Probably.”
The floor tiles rotated, opening a hole. A table rose from the floor, and Johannes picked up the book.
He handed it to her. “Well, good luck all the same.”
“Appreciated.”
“Can Faysal send you anywhere particular?”
“That might help. Buttsack, you’ve been by the shack, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Where were the guards stationed?”
“No guards. We come and go enough to see if there’s anyone nearby.”
Faysal spoke, his voice that was accented in a way that made it richer, not flawed. “I can put you two somewhere safe, child.”
She nodded slowly. “Thank you. The shed in MacEwen Park. Can you put me there somewhere around…”
“A safe time, a safe place?” Faysal asked.
“Uhh, sure. Thank you.”
Light washed over her, and it was warm, and in the midst of it, she saw Faysal Anwar as it truly was.
■
Cold air hit her like a hammer blow.
That wasn’t what had shocked her so much.
“Holy bucking candy balls,” she said, eyes wide. “I think I might have pissed Faysal Anwar off with that comparison I made between Johannes and-“
“He’s always like that,” Buttsack muttered, interrupting.
“Frigging hell,” she said. “Then remind me not to get on his bad side.”
“As you command, my mistress, wart on my cockshead, puckered-“
“Shh,” she said.
There were trees all around. The park was a sliver of land that, as she understood it, was too much hassle to put buildings on. Too close to the marsh – Hillsglade House was visible in the distance.
The wind pushed at her like she was some stuffed toy caught in the grip of two warring children.
“Every time I leave, I’m weaker,” she said.
“Time’s passing fast,” Buttsack said.
“How much time?” she asked.
“Enough.”
“Is it intentional?”
“No. Something that fucking big, it distorts everything around it.”
That white dog…
“Frig,” she said, again. “And Sandra thinks she can fight Johannes?”
“Yes.”
“Frig,” she said. “I feel so small.”
He was silent.
“And I’ll get smaller if I don’t move. Which direction?”
He pointed.
“Kill any goblin that tries to stop me or warn the others.”
Buttsack grinned.
He had his uses.
She loaded her pipe, moving one knife to one pocket.
The shack loomed in view. A section of playground sat on the other side of the trees, distant.
The ‘shack’ was a building with maintenance equipment for park and playground, built of concrete blocks and a high window barred by a grille, to keep people from breaking in. Squat, big enough to park a riding lawnmower inside, and thoroughly decrepit, to the point that there were several large holes in the exterior.
The sun shone, casting it in silhouette, making it hard to tell just where the holes were.
A resting spot for goblins.
There were others in the town. Had Buttsack been unsure about this one, she might have tried one of the houses.
This served.
“Are they asleep? Check. You should know what tricks to watch for.”
“I’m one of the fucking ones they’re watching for,” Buttsack said.
“Try. Signal me when you’re ready.”
He creeped. Goblin creeping was different from human creeping. He could dance along darkness, become the ill winds.
Buttsack wound up in a position where he simply perched within a hole in the wall.
He turned and gave her the finger.
That would be the signal.
The snow pulled at her feet. Even the short walk to this point had drained her. She felt like she had just finished a marathon.
She’d felt a definite loss of personal power after her first visit to Johannes’ realm. Now this?
How much time had passed?
She reached the shack. Her hand touched the worn exterior. Had a goblin taken a sledgehammer to it? The damage was heavy.
“How many?” she murmured.
“Six.”
“Bag,” she said. “Quietly.”
She only managed to add the qualifier a fraction of a second before he let go. He caught the strap with one finger, stopping the bag mid-flight, breaking the fall.
Quiet was relative, it seemed. She reached out, her hands on the bag, and she knew she wouldn’t be strong enough.
She threw herself against the bag, instead, pressing it against the wall with her body. It made for more noise than she wanted.
Buttsack leaped.
She heard a strangled scream.
More noise as the bag scraped against the wall, her arms straining as she fought to keep it from crashing to the ground.
The moment it stopped, landing in softer snow, she was opening it.
Another strangled scream.
The goblins were waking up.
She pulled the chain from the bag, everything from fingertip to toe straining as she fought to pull it free. Other things were dragged out of the bag as the chain came out.
Once the stuff was out of the way, the process was faster. The chain unraveled, and she circled the building. She stopped at the front door, winding the chain around the latch.
A goblin appeared just in front of her, through a hole that she had yet to bar.
She grabbed the pipe, saw its eyes widen in recognition-
The blast was deafening in the relative quiet. She wondered if her lack of presence in the world would keep people from paying attention, or if they’d catch the shotgun blast all the same, but find themselves unable to place it.
They were ignorant and innocent, whatever the case.
He’d gone back inside. She had to haul on the chain harder, as it dragged against three corners of the building now.