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He scratched his head, rubbed his eyes. Where am I?
He dressed himself. Every muscle ached. He grunted as he put on his shoes.
Back into the living room, and he saw The Professor’s dead body still where it had fallen. Oh, yeah. He’s dead. That fact no longer seemed very urgent.
Something cut through the haze of his programming, some prick of curiosity. Yes, he had his mission. He should get on with it, but he looked around the apartment, wondered. Where was the large wooden crate?
He headed for the second bedroom and walked into it. Completely dark. He felt along the wall for the light switch, found it, and flipped it on.
The room was barren of furnishings. There was only the crate in the dead center. The lid had been pried off and sat to one side. Allen approached, looked inside.
He saw an open casket with silk lining and a pillow for the comfort of the deceased. Between the crate and the casket, moist dark earth had been packed in tight, completely surrounding the outside of the casket. Allen’s hand went to his throat. He stood there a moment, putting two and two together.
He ran out of the bedroom, darted into the bathroom, flipped on the light switch. He stood in front of the mirror, lifting his chin, feeling along his throat. Only smooth skin. He let his hand wander down to rub his thigh and considered the marks there.
He pictured the chunk that had been bitten out of Professor Evergreen’s throat. He shivered. The man staring back at him in the mirror looked like a pale, shadow-eyed wraith. Some deranged derelict.
Allen left the bathroom, stumbled from the apartment, downstairs and into the street. The night was cool. Distantly he heard voices, somewhere a dog barking. He realized he was walking. Somehow his feet knew the right direction. South and west.
Strahov Monastery. The words had been put into his brain. So many words and images jumbling together, instructions and books and names and places all mixed up with a picture of himself, arms wrapped around Mrs. Evergreen-Cassandra!-her legs around him, heels digging into his ass, so many grunts and moans and just so much relentless thrusting.
He walked through the night, all of this information like a buzz in his brain growing louder and louder. Two words above all others throbbed within his cranium.
Edward Kelley.
THIRTY
Wake up, bitch.”
The girl on the couch blinked, rubbed her eyes, focused on the other girl standing over her, hands on hips. Pe
“What did you do with him?” Pe
Amy sat up, shook the cobwebs out of her head. “What?”
“Pay attention, blondie. Where’s Allen?”
Amy stifled a yawn. “Is there any coffee?”
“This isn’t fucking De
It registered in Amy’s eyes what Pe
“Duh.”
“What happened to him?”
“That’s what I’m asking you,” Pe
Amy stood, went to the bedroom, and looked inside. “No signs of a struggle. Did he leave a note?”
Pe
“Why would I still be sleeping on your couch if I’d called my people to come kidnap him?”
Pe
“You’re coming off a bit hostile.”
“Fuck you.”
“See? That’s what I mean.”
“Two years!” Pe
“I do not know what you are talking about.”
“The hell you don’t.” Pe
Amy frowned. “Hey!”
“I’m not doing the soft sell anymore,” Pe
“Is that a threat? Are you actually threatening me? Do you know who I am, what I can do to you?”
Pe
Muscles tensed, both women looking like they might pounce at any second.
See, now this is where we should have a totally awesome catfight.
Have you ever seen two women go at it? I mean, two furious women with blood in their eyes, claws out, teeth bared? It’s pretty hot. Lots of long hair thrashing around and clothes getting ripped off.
If I were in charge of such things, it would be catfight time. But I have no such power to manipulate the universe. Alas, my role has been relegated to that of observer. And reporter. The cosmos has put me into this position for the sake of posterity. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the occasional naked catfight. Not this time.
Instead, this happened:
Amy held up her hands, took a step back, and exhaled. “Whoa.
Hold on.”
Pe
“I’m not after Allen,” Amy said. “Not like that. Hey, I understand what it looked like. Sorry about that. But my only concern is keeping some very powerful magic out of the wrong hands. Nothing else.”
“That’s all Father Paul wants too,” Pe
“Wait. Hold on. You talked to the priest.”
“Uh…” Pe
Amy backed away, tensed, glanced at the doors and windows.
“Oh, my God. Are they coming here?”
“No!” Pe
“Oh, yeah? Like your priest helped back at the safe house. With machine guns.”
“They were trying to rescue Allen because you kidnapped him.”
“This is getting us nowhere,” Amy said. “Did you mean it when you said you didn’t tell the priests Allen was here?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t told my people either,” Amy said. “So let’s say we’re both being fair and honest. Who does that leave to help Allen?”
Pe
“I mean he’s out there somewhere. If the Society didn’t snatch him, and if the priests didn’t take him, then where is he?”
Pe
“I don’t know. Maybe he was trying to get away from me, or maybe he just didn’t want to put you in danger. But right now we’re the only people who can help him. Neither one of us wants to see him hurt. Let’s put our heads together and go find him.” Amy offered her hand. “How about it?”
Pe
“I’m going to need a cup of coffee,” Amy said.
“There’s a place down the street,” Pe