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Milo narrowed his eyes. “You’re talking about being a hero.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” said Milo. “Doing good deeds. That’s what heroes do. That’s what Kelly and Ronnie and Linda and Warrick do.”
“And the dog.”
“We’re not heroes, Amber. We don’t have that luxury.”
“But … but, if we don’t at least try to be, then I’m going to be a villain,” she said. “I don’t want to be a villain, Milo.”
He glared at her. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
“Be right back,” she said, drawing a talon across her palm. She let the blood drip, forming a circle around her. The circle flashed into flame and Milo was gone and the Charger was gone and she was back in the Shining Demon’s castle.
“Fool?” she called. “Fool, come on, I haven’t got all day.”
When she got no answer, she left the chamber, picked the corridor with the windows to hurry down. She was halfway along when Bigmouth came shuffling out of the shadows.
“Where’s Fool?” she asked. “Hello? Edgar? Listen, it doesn’t matter. Can you take this to it?”
Bigmouth shook his head.
“Just hand it over – it’ll be fine.”
He scribbled on the slate around his neck, and showed her.
Can’t. Not allowed.
“Then where is Fool?” Amber said angrily. “I’m in a hurry, Edgar. Bring it here, now.”
Bigmouth scribbled again.
Not Edgar. Bigmouth. I am only Bigmouth now.
She sighed. “Fine. Bigmouth. Could you get Fool, please? Could you do that?”
Bigmouth nodded, and shuffled away.
Amber looked out of the window, over the forest of twisted trees, across the river, to the palace of the Blood-dimmed King that stood high and proud in the vast city, with steeples like daggers slicing into the dark sky. A cold wind came from that palace, and it brought the screams with it. She could only imagine the suffering going on behind those walls.
Footsteps made her turn, as Bigmouth guided Fool towards her.
“Finally,” she said. “Where were you? Never mind, I don’t even want to know. Here, I have an offering for you.”
“Not for me,” said Fool. “For the Master.”
“Yes, that’s what I meant, for you to give to him.” She held out the pouch. “This is from Elias Mauk.”
Fool bared its glass-shard teeth. “Don’t like Elias Mauk. He shouted at me and kicked me.”
“He is a bit of a tool, all right. You’ll take this to Lord Astaroth?”
“Of course,” said Fool, accepting the pouch with both hands.
Amber didn’t bother to thank him; she just turned and hurried back to the chamber. She stepped into the circle of fire, stomped her foot on the flames and the fire went out and the castle vanished and she was back beside the Charger.
She walked back up the trail, past the point where they’d met Mauk, and carried on. She found Milo standing at the treeline, looking at the corpses shuffling around the cabin. Even from here, she could hear the raised, panicked voices of the kids inside.
“Where’s Mauk?” she asked.
“Got bored and went home,” said Milo, and looked at her. “Everything go well in Hell?”
“Fine. What’s the plan here? How do we stop them? Destroy the brain?”
“That won’t work.”
“How do you know?”
He jerked his thumb to the left, where a headless corpse was walking into a tree. “It’s not the brain that Mauk controls,” he said. “It’s everything.”
“Well, okay,” Amber said, her hands growing to talons. “I guess it’s lucky I’m in the mood to slice and dice.”
She strode over to the nearest corpse. “Hey there,” she said, and it turned, and she slashed at it until every muscle was severed, and it lay on the ground in a moaning, trembling heap.
One down.
(#ulink_a6475ee4-e29e-5d85-9264-cf30d7dcc551)
THEY HEADED NORTH-WEST, PASSING through Nashville, St Louis and then on through Kansas City. With every roadside marker and town sign they left in their rear-view, they drew closer to Amber’s parents. She could feel it in her gut. She could feel them, their presence, a heavy sensation that kept on building. She hoped they were running. She hoped they were hiding. She hoped they knew someone was tracking them down. She couldn’t wait to see their faces when they realised it was their own daughter.
Somewhere outside of Topeka, they stopped off for food. Amber had no intention of confronting her parents on an empty stomach. As she ate, she focused her mind.
“They’re a few hours away, that’s all.”
“And you’re sure you’re ready?” Milo asked.
“Of course I am. What kinda question is that?”
He shrugged. “It’s just there’s a difference between chasing them down and actually catching them.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Catching them will be a lot more satisfying.”
“Okay.”
Amber sighed. “You obviously don’t agree.”
“I neither agree nor disagree.”
“Which is so helpful, by the way.”
“I’m just saying, while you’re chasing them, you can be all gung-ho about it, but when you catch them … it suddenly becomes real.”
“I’m ready for real.”
“Just checking.”
“You think it’ll be too much for me? I confronted them in Desolation Hill and I was good. I’m not going to choke now, right when I can end it.”
“Can you, though?”
“Can I what?”
“End it?”
“Of course. You don’t think I’m going to have the biggest smile on my face when I deliver them to Astaroth?”
“Maybe you will,” said Milo, “but what happens after?”
She finished her lunch and pushed her plate to one side. “What happens, happens. That’s what happens. You ready to go?”
“Sure.”
Amber paid for lunch and they left. She spotted a convenience store across the street. “Be right back,” she said. “Just getting water.”
Milo gave her a half-wave and walked to the Charger as she crossed the road. As usual, he’d parked it out of sight – down a side alley this time, behind a dumpster. Always careful, that Milo.
The store’s small parking lot had one car in it – a rusty death trap with an I Brake For No One bumper sticker on the rear window. A bell tinkled above the door when Amber entered, but the middle-aged slob in the grubby T-shirt barely looked up from behind the counter. Amber went to the back of the store, grabbed two bottles of spring water and a Coke.
The bell tinkled again and a man and woman entered, both in their forties, both in suits. The woman was small and tidy, and carried herself with the air of someone who was used to people doing what she told them. The man was tall and languid, but Amber spotted a holstered gun beneath his jacket. She stayed where she was, hidden by the shelves.
“Hello, sir,” said the woman.
Amber peeked out as the slob behind the counter scratched his belly. “Don’t like cops,” he said.
“We’re not cops,” the woman replied.
“You look like cops.”
“But we’re not. We’re Federal Agents. I’m Agent Byrd. This is my partner, Agent Sutton.”
They showed him their IDs.
The slob was unimpressed. “Hate Feds more than I hate cops.”
“Do you like fire fighters?” the taller one, Sutton, said. “I have a friend who’s a fire fighter, maybe you’d like him.”
The slob shrugged. “Got no beef with fire fighters. They fight fires.”
“They do,” said Sutton. “It’s kinda their thing.”
“But I don’t like cops, and I certainly don’t like Feds.”
“This is fascinating,” said Byrd, “but we’re not actually here to talk about which branch of the Emergency or Law Enforcement Services are your least favourite. We’re looking for some people.”
“Don’t mind ambulance drivers, neither,” said the slob. “Paramedics and such. My brother was a paramedic.”
“Is that so?” Byrd asked, sounding bored.
“No,” said the slob. “He was a meth addict. I just tell people he was a paramedic because that’s an actual job and it’s a good one. Being a meth addict isn’t really a job.”
Sutton nodded. “More of a vocation.” He showed the slob a photograph. “We’re looking for two people, this girl and a man, driving a black 1970 Dodge Charger.”
Amber’s eyes widened.
“Yep,” said the slob.
“Have you seen them?” Byrd asked.
Amber got ready to bolt for the Fire Exit door behind her.
“Nope,” said the slob.
Byrd folded her arms. “Would you tell us if you had?”
“Well,” said the slob, “that depends now, doesn’t it?”
“It does?” Byrd said.
“On what?” Sutton asked.
“On what you can do for me,” the slob answered.
The agents looked at each other, then back at the slob.
“I’m sorry,” Byrd said. “What?”
“I know how these things work,” the slob informed them. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”
Amber watched Sutton frown. “But yours is probably really hairy.”
“Sir,” Byrd said, “that’s actually not how things work. We are Federal Agents in pursuit of two suspects in a string of murders. If we ask you for information, you are obligated to tell us what you know. That’s how things work.”
The slob looked at her. “But I don’t know anything.”
She sighed. “Okay. Fine. Thank you.”
“But if I did …”
