Living with the Dead

FINN



FINN GOT HIMSELF and Robyn close enough to see what was going on, but they couldn’t hear it. He’d sent Damon for that. Damon hadn’t been pleased; he wanted to watch over Robyn. Finn could have pointed out that if they were attacked, there was nothing Damon could do, but that would be cruel. Instead, he told Robyn they’d need to get closer, so they could listen in and, at that, Damon decided he could handle eavesdropping duty.

They were still in the small strip of woods bordering the property. Finn had caught a glimpse of Solheim, patrolling the fence. He was sticking to his post, though. His only task now was preventing Finn and Robyn from leaving.

As for who Solheim and the others really were and how they got here and where Madoz was, those were questions for later. With cell reception and the route to his radio blocked, he was on his own. As he watched the drama unfolding in the distance he had a feeling that being alone might be a good thing. Bringing in the law could turn a touchy situation into a tragedy. If Robyn was right, Adams and the others operated outside the law for good reason.

Adams, Marsten and Rhys stood in a garden between a cluster of four houses. Finn counted six people with them. There could be more standing at the perimeter, but his angle wasn’t good, the houses partially blocking it.

He could clearly see Adams and Marsten, and that was the important thing. Together with Rhys, they were bookended by men with rifles, but those weapons dangled, a perfunctory threat. The only other gun he could see was held by a dark-haired girl, pointed at a young blonde whose face he’d never forget.

That face was now bloodied and battered, which brought a smile to Finn’s lips. He felt a twinge of guilt at that, hearing his mother admonish him against ever taking pleasure in the misfortune of others. But it was a very small twinge.

Clearly Adele Morrissey’s crimes had been exposed and now they seemed to be negotiating to turn her over to Adams and Marsten. And though they didn’t seem to be in immediate danger from the commune people, he had to get a warning to them about these guys.

At a movement, he glanced over to see Damon jogging back. Perfect timing. He’d get a report on the whereabouts of the fake police squad, then—

“They’re going to stone her!” Damon called, still running.

“Stone?” Finn said.

“A stone what?” Robyn said, popping out from behind the binoculars. A sheepish smile. “Sorry.” She paused, then said hesitantly, “Is Damon back?”

Finn nodded. Her gaze traveled past him, searching for some sign of Damon. Disappointment flickered through her eyes, so sharp it was like an ice pick, a breathtaking jab of empathetic pain.

“Finn?” Damon waved his hands in front of Finn’s face. “Could you stop staring at my wife and listen to me?”

Finn thought he heard a bite in Damon’s voice, but when he glanced up, the ghost just looked impatient.

“I said they’re going to stone Adele.”

“You heard wrong.”

“No, I did not. Her group, those people, they call themselves a company or something, they just held a trial. They convicted her of a whole pile of shit and sentenced her to be stoned by the whole group. Hope’s arguing. She wants to take Adele back to that council and—”

A shot. A scream. Damon wheeled with a, “Holy shit!” Robyn lifted the binoculars, but Finn snatched them, ignoring her cry of protest and pushing her down to the ground as he lowered himself to his knees.

He swung the lenses to Adams and Marsten. Adams lay in Marsten’s arms.

“Finn?” Robyn yanked on his sleeve. “What’s happening?”

“They’re down—taking cover,” he added quickly. The lie came easier than any he’d ever told. “They’re okay. Just—”

Another scream. Another shot. Armed gunmen rushed from behind the buildings, shouting orders. A mushroom cloud of tear gas exploded.

Finn shot to his feet. Robyn grabbed his pant leg. He put his hand on her head, keeping her down.

“Stay here.”

“I’m not—”

He dropped to one knee, his face coming down to hers. “You need to stay here, Robyn. Please. Do you still have the gun?”

She nodded.

“Then stay. You aren’t trained for this, okay?”

That did it—not safety issues but the reminder she wasn’t qualified.

She lowered herself into the grass, then stopped, looking up. “Damon? Go with him. Help him.”

Damon leaned down, kissing the top of her head. “I will, baby.”



FINN CUT THROUGH THE FIELD, praying everyone was too busy to notice him. Damon ran ahead, ready to call back a warning if anyone took an interest. No one did.

The smoke floated out until Finn couldn’t see, and moved by sound alone. After a moment, he recognized one of the shouting voices. Karl Marsten calling for Adams. When he ran toward the voice, he smacked into Marsten, who spun, lips curling in a snarl.

“I’m not working for the Nasts,” Finn said quickly. “I—”

“I know. Find Hope,” Marsten said, then was about to dive back into the smoke when Finn caught the back of his shirt.

“Is she shot?” he said. “I saw her fall—”

“No, that was—” He waved Finn off. “We—” A coughing fit cut him short. “We need to find her before she gets shot.”

He turned again, but Finn still had a grip on his shirt. “That gas is going to knock us flat before we do.”

Marsten’s red-rimmed eyes blazed, and Finn thought he was going to deck him. Then his jaw flexed and he gave a curt nod. “We need gas masks. I thought I saw—”

A figure staggered out, bent double. Rhys. Marsten grabbed him, just long enough to recognize him—and recognize that he wasn’t someone with a gas mask—then dropped him. Finn dove in to catch the man before he toppled.

“I thought I heard you,” Rhys croaked, squinting up at Marsten. “Where’s Hope?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. They have gas masks, right?”

“What?” Rhys coughed so hard that blood flecked Finn’s pants.

“Those men. They have gas masks, don’t they?”

“I think so.”

“Good.”

Marsten strode back into the thick of it. Finn tried to grab him.

Rhys caught his hand. “If you like the current configuration of all your body parts, I wouldn’t do that. He’ll be fine.”

“I’ll cover him,” said a voice behind Finn.

He turned to see Damon jog off after Marsten.

“Does he have a gun?” Finn asked.

“He doesn’t need one. You’re the detective who’s after Adele, right?”

Finn nodded and looked in the direction Damon and Marsten had gone.

“He’s fine. Really,” Rhys said. “But if you want Adele, she’s long gone. Last I saw, she was making a break for it.”

“Robyn.”

“What?”

Finn took off at a run. He’d left Robyn alone, without even Damon to watch her, and now Adele—the woman who wanted her dead, and who could find her anywhere—was on the loose.

He didn’t slow until he reached the spot where he’d left Robyn. There, on the ground, lay the pair of binoculars.





HOPE





When the tear gas exploded, Karl knocked Hope to the ground. It wasn’t necessary—she was already headed that way and grabbing for his arm to yank him down with her, the demon’s hunger for chaos temporarily overridden by its hunger for continued life.

As Hope was twisting to pull him down, someone barreled into him. Hope rolled out of the way so he wouldn’t drop on her and then . . .

She wasn’t really sure what happened then. The demon decided they were out of danger long enough to enjoy a chaos snack before completing their escape. That interlude of euphoria ended when a foot crunched Hope’s spine, she realized Karl wasn’t beside her and the demon shouted at her to get the hell out of there.

She got on all fours, shut her eyes and crawled as fast as she could, ignoring the blows and kicks of people tripping over her. When she finally tasted a current of fresh air on the breeze, she opened her eyes. The chaos-laced smoke still eddied around them, but she could make out the shapes of buildings and people. One person in particular—Adele Morrissey racing across the field.

Hope scrambled to her feet and shot after Adele.

Hope started along a house, darting from bush to bush. But she quickly realized it wasn’t necessary. Adele never glanced back, which told Hope she’d already been spotted. Adele must have caught a glimpse when Hope first started after her, and now she watched Hope’s progress remotely, letting her think she hadn’t noticed. Hope played the game, and kept her gun holstered, out of sight.

When Hope rounded the barn, she saw Adele’s destination—a small outbuilding in the middle of a field. For an ambush or hiding place, she’d have chosen the barn, but Adele’s trajectory put her on target for the shed and, sure enough, a moment later, she was inside it.

Hope darted to the door, then waited, ears and chaos sensors on full. A key clicked in a lock. Then a rhythmic clang-clang, growing distant until it faded. Hope slipped inside. One section of the hay-covered floor had been hastily cleared. Beneath it was a hatch, conveniently left open, should Hope not be clever enough to figure out where Adele had gone.

Beneath the hatch, a metal ladder descended into darkness. With a distant click, a dim light filled the bottom. The sound of one lock opening. Footsteps. The scrape of a key. The creak of a door. A blast of manic voices. Cartoons? The noise faded, and Hope dismissed it as shrieks from outside.

She climbed down the ladder, closing the hatch behind her so no one would follow her down. As she neared the bottom, she hunched down to get a better look at what she was descending into, but all she could see from her vantage point was an empty room with a door. She called on the demon to pick up any tremors of chaos. It reported negative. Hope still lowered herself as slowly as she could, knowing Adele could be waiting at the bottom.

She wasn’t. She’d even left the door ajar for Hope.

Hope crept up to it, taking out her gun now, keeping it hidden under her jacket in case Adele was watching. Hope eased open the door. It led to a dimly lit tunnel and another door at the end, a sliver of light telling Hope it too was cracked open. She did a chaos check, then crept down the hall and pulled open the second door.

Adele stood right there, looking into the room, her back to Hope.

“Come in, Hope,” she said. “It is Hope, isn’t it?”

She spun, gun flying up . . . only to see Hope pointing at her. She looked at it. Blinked. And laughed, a high girlish laugh.

“The element of surprise is lost with us, isn’t it?” She lowered her gun. “I’m not going to shoot you. Read my mind or whatever it is you do. You need to take me out of here alive. I want to leave alive, and the only way I’m doing that is in your custody.”

She turned her back to Hope, a mind-blowing act of trust. Or, Hope suspected, arrogance. But she was right. Right now, their goals coincided. Still, Hope wasn’t lowering her gun.

“Close the door,” Adele said.

Hope did—she didn’t want anyone sneaking up behind her.

“Might as well get comfortable. I have a plan to get us out, but until someone shows up to negotiate with, we’re stuck.”

Again, Hope had to agree. The property was swarming with armed men—cops or Cabal, she wasn’t sure. Add the rifle-toting kumpania members, and she wasn’t setting foot outside this bunker until someone granted her safe passage.

As for what they were in, bunker was the word that came to mind, but as she passed through the entryway into the main room, she had a vision . . . of a playground, the one she and Karl had been standing outside only hours ago. That’s what this looked like: a day care, all bright colors and plush furniture. A TV flashed now—silent cartoons. There was even a crib pushed against the wall. Why would there be—?

“ ’dele?”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Adele said. “That’s Hope. Oh, you like her, do you? You like pretty girls.” Her voice was light, but a hard note crept into it, and the look she shot Hope was dagger-sharp.

Hope sidestepped to see around Adele. There was a boy in the chair and, for one jolting moment, she thought it was Colm. But it was a distorted view, as if the angle was skewed, something not quite right.

“Come meet Thom,” Adele said. “I think he likes you.” Her lips curved, but there was too much snarl in it to be mistaken for a smile.

As Hope moved forward she tried not to stare. The boy in the chair wasn’t much older than Colm, with the same blue eyes and red hair, but his head was slightly oversized and misshapen, with plastic tubes running out of it—shunts, she realized.

Thom watched Hope. There was a keenness in his eyes, a probing curiosity.

Adele walked over, her arms going around his neck, lips to his bulging forehead.

“Yep, this is Thom. The proud daddy. Aren’t you, sweetie?”

She snuggled against him, her breasts rubbing his face. When Adele had named her baby’s father and called him “retarded,” Hope had assumed she was lying, trying to shock the kumpania into outrage so she could escape. Now she saw the truth. Adele had seduced not only a fifteen-year-old boy, but his mentally handicapped brother, an act as horrific as molesting a child.

Adele pulled back, but not before squeezing his crotch. “You gave me a wonderful gift, didn’t you, sweetie? One that will make my fortune.” She looked at Hope. “When I told Irving I was carrying the child of a seer, I swear the old man got a hard-on just thinking about it.”

“Seer?” Hope forced the word past her revulsion.

“Powerful clairvoyants who can project visions to others. Irving had heard stories about them—that’s all most people hear, stories. But here they are, and Thom is the most valuable of them all.”

“Them?”

Adele waved at the room and walked to a cupboard, taking down a bottle. Hope turned, slowly. Her gaze moved past the flashing TV to another chair, a recliner this time. In it, a hairless man stared vacantly at the cartoon.

“That’s Melvin. Veggie Boy.” Adele tapped her head. “No one’s home. He’s practically useless, but he’s Niko’s son, so they have to keep him alive.”

Hope stepped sideways to see what Adele was doing. Filling a syringe.

Hope’s hand tightened on her lowered gun. “What’s that?”

“A sedative for Thom. He has a wicked temper. When the kumpania or the Cabal starts banging on that door, things will get ugly. I don’t want him upset.”

“When they do show up, let me do the talking. I’ll negotiate—”

“With what?” Her look dripped disdain. “I’ll do the talking. I know what we’ve got in here, and how to use it to our advantage.”

“Adele, we—”

A noise behind Hope. A rustling. From the crib.

She’d forgotten the crib. Her knees locked, brain ordering her to stay where she was, not to look, that it wouldn’t do any good.

And what good would it do to not look? Cover her eyes, plug her ears and whistle past the cemetery? When she got out, she had to do something about this, which meant she had to take the story back to the council. The full story.

Hope stepped to the crib, and a scream congealed in her throat. It wasn’t a baby. It wasn’t even human. It couldn’t be. A doll. A prank. Adele’s plan to shock Hope, distract her so she could get her gun.

It moved.

Hope’s scream escaped in a strangled yelp.

Adele laughed. “That’s Martha. Freaky, isn’t she? Like a giant slug.” Once she said that, Hope couldn’t shake the image, as hard as she tried to see what lay in that crib as human. It was a woman with long, tangled white hair. She was limbless and eyeless, her body so white it blended with her diaper. She writhed from side to side, mouth opening, mewling.

“She’s probably hungry.” A flat statement, carrying no sense of obligation to do anything about it. “She’s the most powerful of them. But we can only pick up her visions—she can’t communicate. That’s why Thom’s the most valuable. Aren’t you, sweetie?”

Hope looked from Adele, pinging air bubbles from the needle, to Thom, watching Adele with that intent stare.

“ ’dele,” he said, the guttural word carrying the same edge as one of Karl’s warning growls.

“Everything’s okay, sweetie. I’m just giving you one of your shots, to calm you down.”

“No.”

“Oh, I know you don’t like them. They make you feel all fuzzy, don’t they?” She paused, head cocking. “Hear that, Hope? Seems they finally found us.”

Hope caught the faint clink of metal. Someone descending the ladder.

“Don’t worry. They can’t get in.” She took a key from the tabletop, waved it and dropped it into her pocket. “Once the door is closed, no one gets in or out without that. Of course, to get out, we’re also going to need to get past them.”

Adele lifted the needle to check the dose.

“You’re going to hold the seers hostage,” Hope said.

“It doesn’t matter who’s coming down those steps—Cabal or kumpania—for either one, these guys are the most valuable things on the property.”

She started toward Thom. Chaos buzzed from him, fear muted by uncertainty, sensing danger but seeing only someone he trusted.

“ ’dele . . .” He grabbed the arms of his chair, rising.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Hope said. “He seems fine.”

“Bold moves, Hope. You have to be willing to make the bold moves.” She stopped in front of her. “When you see the options, there’s always one that seems like it’s too much. It goes too far. That’s the one you need to take.”

Hope tried to pick up a stray chaos vibe, a thought, anything to confirm her fears. Adele only looked at her, mind blank, face expressionless. But Hope knew. She knew.

The door clicked. They both looked over. The knob turned one way, the other, then stopped. Adele began to circle around Hope. She stepped into Adele’s path.

“He doesn’t need that shot,” Hope said. “He’s calm, and I’ll make sure he stays that way. You negotiate. Thom will be my responsibility.”

Adele tried sidestepping. When Hope countered, Adele’s lips tightened in annoyance. “I’m just going to give him a sedative, let him sleep this out.”

“No, you’re not. This isn’t a bold move, Adele. It’s craz—premature. We haven’t even opened negotiations.”

She hesitated. Reconsidering? After a moment, she sighed. “We have to enter from a strong position. Don’t you see that? Start by proving we aren’t making idle threats.”

“But Thom—”

“—is the most valuable seer. A huge loss. Enter from that position, and we’ll have them scrambling to save the other two.”

She sidestepped again. Hope raised her gun.

Adele laughed. “You aren’t going to use that. You need me.”

“Not badly enough to let you kill anyone else.”

She stepped past Hope. “I gave you a story. Stick with that.”

Hope turned the gun on Adele. “Put the needle down.”

“Relax, Thom.” Adele laid her hand on his chest, pushing him back into his seat. “You’re just going to take a nap, okay, sweetie?”

He resisted her push, but didn’t shove back, staying on the edge of his seat, fear tempered with confusion, sensing danger, seeing only Adele.

Hope raised the gun, to her head. “Adele, put down—”

“Oh, please.” She moved the syringe to Thom’s arm. “Bold moves, Hope. You have to be willing to make—”

Hope fired.





ROBYN



Robyn saw Hope and Adele run from the tear gas fog, Adele escaping, Hope giving chase. She leapt up from her hiding place, thinking,“I have to tell Finn.”

Then she’d seen the gun clutched in her hand and thought what the hell am I thinking?

Hope deserved someone who knew how to fire a gun, but at this moment, Robyn was the only person close enough to help. So after one last look around, hoping for a glimpse of Finn or Karl, Robyn gave chase.



FOLLOWING HOPE WASN’T EASY. They had a huge head start and Robyn would have lost them if Adele’s goal hadn’t been obvious—a building in the field. By the time Robyn reached it, Hope and Adele were inside. Robyn pulled another mystery show move, sliding along the wall toward the door, her nerves eased by thinking how Damon would get a laugh if he could see her and maybe, just maybe, he could.

Robyn cracked open the door and peered in. It was a tiny shed, empty, no place to hide. She slipped in. When her eyes adjusted, she noticed a bare spot in the hay and, beneath it, a trapdoor. She opened it, listened and descended.

There was a second door below. Closed, but not locked, it led into a darkened hall. She made her way carefully down it, gun at the ready. It led to another door. This one was closed and locked. Beyond it, she made out the murmur of voices. One was Hope’s. The other, female, presumably Adele’s. Robyn caught a word here and there, but not enough to decipher the conversation.

She pressed her ear against—

A blast from the room sent Robyn reeling back. She caught her balance, then replayed what she’d heard. A bang. A crash. Something falling. She told herself it was something falling not someone, but she’d heard those sounds too often in the last few days to mistake it for anything.

A gunshot and a body dropping.

She flew to the door, grabbing the knob.

“Hope! Hope!”

She screamed her name until she couldn’t, until her throat was raw, and still she whaled on the door, yanking and yanking and yanking, her shoulder blazing.

When Damon died, everyone said, “I’m here for you, Rob. Just let me know what you need.” Hope never said that. She was just there, making a meal or doing her laundry or working silently at her kitchen table while Robyn sobbed in the bedroom, thankful to be alone yet not alone. Hope hadn’t asked whether Robyn wanted her to come out to L.A. She’d shown up. She didn’t ask whether Robyn needed Portia’s murder solved. She just did it.

And now, when Robyn could have helped her, she’d failed.

She kept banging and shouting and then, finally, between pounds, soft as a whisper. “Rob?”

Her hand jerked back from the door. The gun fell. She let it, and swayed there a moment, before pressing her hands to the cold metal and leaning in until her ear rested against it.

“Hope?”

It could be a trick, the voice was too low to say with any certainty that it was Hope’s or that it was a voice at all and not just a sound she’d willfully misheard.

“Rob?”

“Hope! Yes, it’s Robyn. Open the door.”

Silence.

Robyn hammered the door. “Hope? Open the door, Hope!”

It was a trick. Had to be. Why else wouldn’t she—?

Robyn remembered what Hope had said about the boy, Rhys’s son, that if she saw a vision of his death, that’s all she’d see. She’d be lost in it. How much worse would it be to witness a death live?

Karl would know what to do. She’d get Karl, and he’d snap her out of it or break this door down—

If she walked away now, there was no guarantee she’d get back before someone else did. Someone just as dangerous as Adele.

“Hope? I need you to open this door.”

Robyn kept repeating it, as calmly and firmly as she could. After a minute, the door quavered under her hands, jerking back and forth.

“It . . . it won’t open.” Hope’s voice, but still with that chillingly flat affect, as if she really didn’t care whether she got the door open or not.

“Are there keys?”

A pause. “What?”

“Keys, Hope. Did Adele have keys?”

“Adele . . . I shot— I had to.”

That’s good, Robyn thought, but said, “That’s okay. Did she have a key?”

“Key? Yes. She . . . Hold on.”

Getting that key seemed to take forever. Robyn was tempted to bang on the door again. Then a key turned in the lock. The door opened. Robyn pulled Hope out and caught her up in a hug. Hope returned the embrace only a moment, then pulled back with a tired chuckle.

“No time for that,” she said. “I’m guessing the situation hasn’t resolved itself up there?”

“Probably not.”

Hope rubbed her eyes. “Okay. Let’s get out of here before someone finds us.”

“Is Adele . . . ?”

Hope nodded.

“You had to,” Robyn said.

“Yes, I did.” There was no emphasis in her voice, no need to justify. “

Is there another exit?” Robyn started reopening the door to look inside.

Hope backed into the opening and held the door fast. “No.”

“What is—?”

“No. Really, Rob.” She looked up at her. “On this one, trust my call.”

Robyn stepped back. Hope seemed about to follow, then held up a finger, slid back into the room and closed the door before Robyn could stop her.

A moment later, she heard Hope’s voice. She leaned forward to say she couldn’t hear her, but Hope was murmuring, as if talking to someone else. Was Adele still alive?

Hope came out and lifted her gun. “Almost forgot this. I grabbed Adele’s, too. For you.”

“I’ve got one.” Robyn retrieved hers from the floor.

“Armed to the teeth, aren’t we?” Another tired smile. “Who’d have thought?”

Hope closed the door.

“Is someone . . .” Robyn began. “I thought I heard you talking.”

“Hmm? Oh, muttering to myself. Still a bit confused. Don’t worry, it’s passing.”

Hope checked the door, making sure it was locked, then headed for the ladder.