She found Mr. Garrett in the kitchen, cooking bacon. Faye Traveled in right next to him. “Smells good.”
Her sudden arrival startled him and he splashed bacon grease on his hand. “Don’t do that!” He stuck his burned finger in his mouth.
“Well, somebody’s jumpy.”
“Can you blame me? You about give me a heart attack when you do that.”
“Grumpy too.”
“Sleeping with one eye open will do that to you,” he answered as he forked a few cooked pieces onto a waiting plate. “I didn’t know who was going to murder us in our sleep last night first-the Imperium or the OCI. Jake’s lost his mind, joining up with these people.”
“I haven’t met the other one yet.”
“Hammer. Don’t trust her, Faye. She’s a manipulator.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
“You bet, and that’s why I can tell. Just because you can’t lie to her doesn’t mean she can’t lie to us.”
Faye snagged a piece of bacon and popped it into her mouth. “Don’t worry, Mr. Garrett. I’m still the most dangerous person here.”
“That you are. Well, I’ll just have to trust you’ll keep us safe.” He chuckled, so Faye did too. She had always liked Mr. Garrett. He passed her the plate of bacon. “Here’s my protection payment.” Faye was starving. She wasn’t about to turn that down, and immediately started wolfing down the food without even bothering to sit.
Mr. Sullivan joined them a moment later. He still had his BAR slung over one shoulder. It said a lot about the company that she kept, that his wearing a machine gun at breakfast didn’t even strike her as odd.
“Sleep well?” he asked with a wink.
So much for being sneaky. It was like everybody knew she’d slept in the barn. “Oh, my bed was just lovely.”
Mr. Garrett had boiled up a pot of coffee, and Mr. Sullivan poured himself a cup. He took it black. “I just got some bad news.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Faye asked.
“’Cause I don’t want you to fly off the handle and do something stupid when I tell you Francis is missing.”
Faye went numb. The plate shattered on the floor. “We’ve got to do something!”
“We will.” Mr. Sullivan was mulling over his coffee. “The others will be back soon. Sit tight. I got a plan.”
John Browning
Chapter 15
There will be some innocent victims in this fight against magical Fascists. We are launching a major attack on the enemy; let there be no resentment if we bump someone with an elbow. Better that ten innocent people should suffer than one enemy of the worker get away. When you chop wood, chips fly.
OCI Headquarters
It was like waking up from a two-day bender, only judging from the dungeonlike surroundings illuminated by the single flickering light bulb hanging from the ceiling, this certainly wasn’t his old fraternity. Rust-colored water was dripping down the brick walls and the floor was poured concrete covered in half an inch of dust. There was a single door, no windows, and he was alone. The last thing he could remember was being clobbered by Crow. He reached up to put one hand to his throbbing head, but a chain snapped tight against his wrist. “Ugh. Where am I?”
There was a noise, some movement, and a cough. “Francis?” The voice had come from the wall behind his back. “Is that you?”
“Yeah.” Francis had to be hallucinating from the head injury. Was there such a thing as auditory hallucinations? He didn’t rightly know. Getting hit so hard that you begin hearing dead people couldn’t be good. “Heinrich?”
“ Mein Gott, it is you!” There was a scraping noise and the clank of chains. “They got you too.”
“You’re alive?”
The laugh was bitter. “For now, though I don’t know why.”
He was very excited to discover that one of his best friends had cheated death, but the circumstances of their reunion left something to be desired. Francis managed to turn his head far enough to see that there were small holes cut in the wall. His chains led through them, so he couldn’t fiddle with whatever they were tethered to. “You’ve got no idea how glad I am to find you. Where are we?”
Heinrich’s voice was coming through the holes. “I believe we are under OCI headquarters.”
“Hang on.” Francis concentrated on the light bulb to see if he could make it swing. Nothing. They had to be under the influence of one of Buckminster Fuller’s nullifiers. “Damn.”
“Using your magic? It doesn’t work here. A man named Crow said they have a device-”
“We’ve met. He’s the reason I’ve got a splitting headache.”
“A pleasant-enough sort, for a statist secret policeman. I believe he will kill us as soon as we are no longer of use.”
“He’s a demon,” Francis said.
“Indeed. His kind always are.”
“No. Literally. He’s a Summoned.”
Heinrich laughed. “You must have gotten hit very hard.”
“I heard from one of the new knights that’s with-”
The chains clanked. “Quiet! Speak of no one else. Do you think they put us where we can talk to each other by accident?”
Francis shut his mouth and studied the walls suspiciously. Heinrich was right. They were probably listening. “Sure… Never mind.”
“I was wondering why they finally gave me food and water… They wanted me strong enough to have a conversation.” Heinrich sounded very tired. “I’m sorry, Francis. It is too late for many. They made me talk. Drugs and magic. I don’t even remember, but they stole names right out of my mind. I don’t even know who for sure, but I’ve put them in danger. This Crow, demon or man, whatever he is, he’s clever.”
“Trust me. The bastard grows horns and can fly. How long have I been here anyway?”
“An hour, maybe, since I heard them drag you in and chain you up. Not too long.”
There was a ring of metal on metal as his door was unlocked. “Shhhh.”
The door swung open to reveal Crow. “Afternoon, Francis.”
“Go to hell, demon.”
“That’s not fair,” Crow said as he came into the room. The door was closed behind him and relocked by unseen staff. This bunch sure didn’t take any chances. He walked over and stood under the lightbulb, the brim of his hat shadowing his face. “I’m a person too. Born in Cleveland. Dad was a foundry worker. Mom died when I was little. Real sob story, you can fill in the blanks. I’m as much a human being as you are. Well, part of me at least. See…” Crow squatted down so they could see eye to red eye. He leaned in so close that Francis could smell the tobacco on his breath. “I’m just not as limited as you. I got more than one body that I can use. When one gets broken, I just get a new one…” Crow placed one finger softly on Francis’ cheek.
“Go fu-” And then Francis ground his teeth together as Crow slowly sliced his face open.
“You, on the other hand…” The demon rocked back on his haunches, examining his open hand. His fingers ended in black needle points. Crow licked the blood from one and smiled. “… are so fragile.”
Francis’ face burned. He could feel the heat of the blood dripping down his chin. “What do you want, asshole?”
“I knew you had some fire in you. Knew it from the beginning. What do I want? What was it again?” Crow cocked his head to the side until it was at an unnatural angle. “I want to drink your blood and eat your soul,” he hissed with a voice that was unlike any Francis had ever heard before. It made him think of rusty nails and dried snakeskin.
This was no act. Crow was losing his mind. Francis cringed away.
Crow stood up. His hand returned to normal as he looked toward a sound that Francis couldn’t hear yet. The metal bar clanked and the door opened again. A man stood there, tall and wide, with the broad shoulders of someone who’d been strong in his youth, but the muscle had long since turned to fat. Wearing a pinstriped suit and carrying an ornate cane, he appeared to be in his sixties, with a long white mustache and unfashionably large, old-fashioned sideburns. He came into the room and gave Crow a stern glance. “What are you doing here?”