She didn’t take his hand.
“Help?” he asked, hand still extended.
“Not if you’re tampering with bombs,” she said.
“I’m looking,” he said, struggling to his feet without any help, using the arm of the couch. He looked a little weak.
“Careful,” I said.
He wobbled, then looked down at me, before offering me a wan smile. His eyes were sharp, pupils dilated to points. He was focused.
Reminded me of me, a little, back when I’d been human and bled out.
He was suitably cautious as he found and peered at the bombs Evan had pointed out, his hands in his pockets as he very carefully maneuvered his head around.
“Damn,” he said. “Nevermind. Shit.”
“What?” Ellie asked.
“Not touching this shit. There’s a fucking level on the top, with wires in both sides. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out how this works. Too big a bump or tilt it, and boom. Shit. Would’ve been nice to move something to the staircase, bait them down…”
“Whatever,” Ellie said. I’m sticking with my plan.”
She sprung to her feet, peeling off her shoes, and kicked then under the sofa. She glanced up and down the hallway, at the staircase leading upstairs. “Where’s the basement?”
“Cellar,” I said. “Door beside the hall closet.”
She disappeared around the corner, nearly silent.
She reappeared. “Tripwire, top of the stairs. Just so you know. Almost got me.”
Then she disappeared again.
There was a moment’s pause.
“Who are those kids?” Kathryn asked. “Bombs? Tripwires? They’re good.”
“Hit men,” Roxanne mumbled, her head hanging as she shuffled around to a sitting position, one eye on the hallway. “I think I want to be them. Then I want to find them, and pay them back.”
“Focus,” I said. “We don’t have time.”
“I’m not hiding beneath those bombs,” Kathryn said. “Can’t leave through the door, right?”
“Claymore or something at the back door. I suspect there’s something at the front,” I explained.
“Can we detonate it on purpose, from a distance?” Peter asked. “It’d bring the locals running.”
“I’m not so sure,” I said.
He smiled a little, a knowing smile.
“You’re the boss,” he said.
I looked around.
Callan, Kathryn, Peter, Roxanne, and mute Christoff.
“Move Callan, help Kathryn to a hiding spot. If you or the kids can figure out places to lay traps while you’re at it, great.”
“And you?” Peter asked, arching an eybrow.
There wasn’t anything I could say without cluing him in further.
A part of me felt like Kathryn, Ellie and the kids were at the point where they could maybe explain away what had happened to date. Kathryn was sharper, but maybe less willing to let go of her grip on the real world. Ellie wasn’t as sharp, not in this respect. The kids were kids.
But Peter…
Fuck.
“There’s a reason they spray painted and broke the mirrors and pictures in the house,” I said. “If you can find anything that’s been put on the ground or covered, prop it up, that helps.”
“Uh huh. Just like the movies? The eyes in the pictures move to follow you. The house is rigged,” he said, smiling.
“You’re on the right track, ish,” I said.
“I don’t follow,” Kathryn said, quiet, “But moving sounds like a great idea.”
They decided on the simplest plan, in the end. Callan and Kathryn were the biggest liabilities. Peter and the two kids helped support Kathryn to the front hallway, helping her to the stairs. Peter backed off, presumably letting Kathryn use the railing while the two younger children helped.
Just an unconscious Callan and Peter, now.
“So?” Peter asked me.
“So what?” I asked, in response.
He moved the couch cushions, then moved the coffee table back. “So… how does this work? What are the rules?”
“The less you know, the better,” I said.
“For who?” he asked. “Way I see it, the more I know, the more I can help. It’s not just the windows and mirrors here. At the cafe, when that girl with the scarf picked a fight with Ellie? That was odd, and I didn’t get the feeling it had anything to do with the people who goaded us to come here. You wanted a look at the contract, somehow. It’s how Rose knew we’d be coming for her.”
“Not quite right,” I said.
“But I’m close?” he whispered.
He leaned over Callan, and slapped Callan, hard. He flicked one finger at Callan’s closed eyelid.
Callan moaned, but didn’t wake up.
“You’re close,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“Hiding Callan,” he said. He reached into the couch and unfolded a cot that was built into the bottom portion. “I’m a little too weak to pull it off myself.”
He picked up the poker Callan had dropped and sat down on the edge of the bed. “That bird isn’t an ordinary bird. It’s not a trained bird. And I have a really hard time believing a guy who would somehow get his hands on a lockpicking, bomb-detecting bird would call it something as dumb as Evan.”
“Evan is the best name.”
“That’s not important,” I said.
“Which brings me…” he trailed off, half-rising to his feet, tense. Footsteps.
Roxanne and Christoff.
“Lift him,” Peter said, grabbing one of Callan’s arms.
Roxanne had only one hand available, leaving Christoff to deal with the bulk of the weight. They raised Callan up until he was half-sitting, half-lying on the bad. Springs as old as I was creaked and popped with the sudden weight.
We all went still.
Whatever the witch hunters were doing upstairs, they didn’t hear. Chances were good they were on the third floor.
Peter dragged Callan’s feet around until Callan was lying down, head by one of the arms of the couch, feet by the other. Arranging Callan’s arms and legs so he fit on the mattress without anything dangling, he folded the couch back up, with Callan inside. Metal and springs protested loudly.
“Cal won’t be able to breathe,” Christoff spoke.
“As fun as rolling him down the stairs to the cellar would be,” Peter said, “It would be loud. And leaving him in the open gets him cut or shot.”
Christoff didn’t look happy.
Peter looked my way. “The bird isn’t important. What is? I asked you what the rules were, here. What can you share?”
Peter was a people person. I thought about that.
“Andy is the trap and bomb guy.”
“Noticed.”
“Eva the fighter. They’re working for the people who run things behind the scenes. Eva’s a little bit crazy, a loose cannon. Andy reels her in.”
“The bitch,” Roxanne muttered. “I need a better knife.”
She held up the letter opener. It looked old fashioned. Pretty clearly one of grandmother’s things. Probably snatched from a nearby surface.
I thought of Ellie’s bag.
No, too awkward to get, especially when I didn’t have access to upstairs.