Worlds Apart Page 5

  Damien shrugged, his backpack shifting on his hips. Perhaps the Keeper had gone out for supplies. He crossed the road, remaining cautious. Deep in the trees, he again tested the air, turning in the direction of the portal. He continued on, his steps still graceful, but his walk slower, senses alert. There was more here than human flatness.

  When a stray breeze brought an unexpected scent, he fell into a crouch, a low growl in his throat. He stared at the trees and waited, tasting the feel of the earth around him. If he had been in wolf form, hackles would have risen along his back.

  Another werewolf. He turned his head toward the direction of the Keeper's house, following the trail. The werewolf had reported to the Keeper. Why? The Keeper had the right to kill a werewolf on sight. A generous Keeper would, at the least, force him to return to Kaarmanesh. Even at the new moon, werewolves were not allowed into the human world. It made no sense to see the Keeper. Unless he was Portal Enforcement. But would P.E. send a werewolf into the Flatlands to do their work?

  Unable to make sense of the situation, Damien stood, tense and alert. He continued toward the portal, his steps as silent as padded paws. The scent of the other werewolf grew stronger, but Damien could tell the man was no longer in the Flatlands. The scent was fading. The other one had returned to Kaarmanesh.

  Would he be waiting on the other side of the portal?

  When Damien reached his cove and the scent of the other male's mark hit him, he shouted in anger. Who was this, to dare such a thing? He circled the cove, relieved to see the ward still held. Damien's lips curled. It would take someone quite strong in magic to break that ward, and no werepup working for P.E. would ever be capable of it.

  He could have ignored the acrid scent of the other male, but Damien thought it worth the few minutes it took to kick mud on the trail of it, then cover it again with his own mark. This was his cove. Not even Portal Enforcement could gain entry.

  Satisfied that his wards held, Damien continued the few hundred feet to the portal, stopping in the trees once it was in sight. He groaned.

  The portal had been indicted.

  Its shimmer was reduced to a slight ripple at each corner. He couldn't cross.

  He couldn't stay here either, for the Keeper would be around to check things. Damien stared at the glassy portal, thinking hard. His smile crept back. There were things he could do while he waited.

  ~~

  “Hey, c'mon. Don't hog the cigarette.”

  “You're hoggin' the pictures. How come you get everything?”

  “Knock it off, morons! You're getting her wet!”

  The scuffling stopped, and an effort was made to reestablish the tarp the three boys huddled under. Water from the laden trees splashed onto their crossed legs, leaving splotches on essential parts of Miss March’s anatomy before they got things back under control.

  “Damn, now the cigarette's out.”

  “You can't do anything right, dude.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Les Chardes ignored the bickering of his friends, brushing a respectful hand over the magazine open on his lap. “Hold the flashlight still, Jason,” he said. “Pete can always light the cigarette again.”

  The circle of light dashed onto the dirt as Jason made a final adjustment to the tarp over his head, then made a precise path to Miss March’s fuzzy patch. Les sighed. “Perfect.”

  Pete Griffin snickered as he lit the cigarette, bending over Les's shoulder for a better view.

  The boys shared a moan, and Pete passed the cigarette to Les, who took a puff before passing it to Jason. The page rustled as Les turned it, and another moan arose. A crunch up the hill made Pete tilt his head. “Did you hear something?”

  “Nah,” Jason said, bending further to see the entire series of poses. But a moment later, steady footsteps made the boys scramble out of the tarp, cigarette and magazine disappearing as if by magic.

  Les swung the flashlight toward the sound. “Who's there?”

  “Sorry, boys. Didn't mean to scare you.” The voice was not one they knew, and Jason couldn't hold back a fearful squeak. Pete's elbow urged him to be quiet.

  The flashlight revealed a thin man, taller than Pete, who was the tallest of the three of them at five-feet-ten. The man wore dark clothing with a day pack on his back. His fur-lined hood was down, showing stringy blond hair hanging around his face and mingling with a short blond beard. He raised an arm to his eyes. “Can you point that thing down, please?”

  “Sorry.” The light jerked down as Jason fumbled with it, but Les suddenly grabbed it from him and flung the light back up into the man's eyes.

  “Who are you, Mister? What are you doing here?” Les's voice didn't waver, but Jason heard the fear in it. He suspected the man did, too.

  “Name's Damien Fontaine. I'm just hiking around. Not on private property, am I?”

  “No,” Les said. “It's just kind of cold and wet to be hiking. Most people wait for summer.”

  “You're out here,” the man said, as if proving a point. “What is it that three boys like you might be doing hiding under a tarp in the middle of a wet forest?”

  They shuffled, halfway glancing at each other as they mumbled, “Nothing.” The light danced along the ground in guilty circles.

  Damien Fontaine folded his arms, eyeing them with adult doubt. He sniffed, as if testing the air, and took a step toward the tarp. “You hiding something under there?”

  “No, sir, just…” Les stopped, raising the light again, but not in the man's eyes. “It's nothin'.”

  Dark danger seemed to flow from the man. “How old are you boys? Fourteen or so? You're not hiding any weed under there, are you?”

  The boys glanced at each other, startled. “No!” Les said. “It's just a magazine, mister. It belongs to my dad. I gotta bring it back.” His voice was desperate.

  “That so? Let's have a look.”

  The man’s voice held no hint of threat, but Les felt it wise to not push things. He nodded to Pete, who turned to the tarp, flipping it up until the magazine appeared, still open to Miss March. Pete walked a few steps closer to the man and stopped, holding the magazine out.

  The man took it, tilting it into the light. His face revealed nothing as he flipped a few pages, but after a minute, he nodded, holding the magazine out to them. “Pretty girl,” he said. “You fellas have good taste.”

  Pete took the magazine, his grin answering the camaraderie in the man's voice. Les and Jason grinned too, co-conspirators with all men in the world.

  Their new friend changed the subject. “Does running into you mean I'm near a town? I got a little turned around with all the cloud cover and a cheap compass. I'll need to restock my provisions soon.”

  Pete nodded. “Green Roads is a couple miles that way,” he said, pointing behind them. “There's a trail just around the hill. You just stay on it and you'll be in town.”

  “Good to know. I'm all right for now, but I'll stop by before hiking out. Lovely country you got here. Is Green Roads a very big town?”

  Les and Jason snickered. Pete rolled his eyes. “Nah. It's a turd on the ass-end of nowhere. But you'll find plenty of supplies.”

  Damien laughed. “That bad, huh? How many people? Ten, twenty thousand? Five? One gas station or two?”

  “Two,” Pete admitted. “About five thousand people, if you count all the outliers.”

  “Couple of good restaurants,” Les said. “And the pub has rooms if you decide to sleep in a bed.”

  “Good to know. Just the one pub? Got a downtown? What's the layout of the place?”

  The boys exchanged glances. Les shrugged. “Not really a downtown. There's a few pubs, but only Eddie's has rooms. Just one main street with a couple stores, churches, the gas stations, and restaurants. Rest of the town is people's houses mostly. And the schools.”

  “Library, too,” Pete offered. “Next to the sheriff's and the city council offices.”

  “And Doc Cassidy, down below Main Street,” Jason said, jab
bing Les with his elbow. They all snickered.

  Damien lifted a brow. “What about Doc Cassidy?”

  The answering shrugs came with more snickers and a trace of embarrassment from the boys. “She's hot,” Pete said.

  Les pumped a hand. “Can't wait for school checkups.” His swagger slipped as a nervous giggle escaped him.

  Damien laughed. “Maybe I should sprain my ankle when I get to town.” The boys laughed with him, agreeing it would be worth his time.

  Les glanced at his watch. “Speaking of time, dinner'll be ready soon.”

  “Yeah, gotta get home,” Pete said.

  “Thanks boys. Don't stay out too late. Your parents will worry.”

  They acknowledged this, at ease with the stranger now, and turned to gather up their tarp.

  Chapter 7

  Tina sipped her Cabernet as she gave Beowulf a scratch behind his ears. The cat returned the favor with a nibble to her palm before leaning into the scratch, eyes closing in bliss. “Hedonist,” Tina murmured. “But you've got the right idea. Since I don't have anyone to give me a massage, I'm off for a bath.”

  She continued into the bathroom, pulling her bottle of lavender oil from its place on the shelf. After another sip of wine, she set the glass down and turned to the tub.

  Her cell rang.

  “Ah, fuuucckk.” She took a moment to lift her eyes skyward, threw one rueful glance at the wine and the lavender oil, and fished the phone out of her pocket. “Doc Cassidy speaking.”

  “You're on coroner duty tonight.”

  The statement, spoken in Sheriff Ringstrom's flat tone, brought her alert. Underneath his words, she heard despair, and she fought down a brief wave of panic. “Shit,” she said. “What you got?”

  He hesitated and her panic vanished, replaced with a dull ache deep in her gut. Whatever had happened, it was bad.

  “I don't know yet, Tina,” he said. “I'm sending Sally out to pick you up. She'll be there in about five minutes. We're up on Vacker's Ridge.”

  She hung up and went to put on her rain gear.

  ~~

  Sally didn't have a lot of information. “Rock slide, probably,” was all she could offer after Tina jumped in the squad car. “Three kids got caught.”

  The flashing lights of ambulance and squad car reflected off the rain, and indicated their destination on the dirt road about a mile out of town. As Sally pulled up, Tina caught a glimpse of boulders and smaller rocks scattered along the road ahead of them. They had to hike down from the trail, adding their flashlights to the floods the rescue team had put up, as they made their way from wet boulder to wet boulder down the slope. Fifty feet down, Ringstrom stood with two EMTs near a monster rock. About ten other people, wearing reflective safety vests over their rain coats, huddled under a light. They watched without comment. A few were weeping.

  The search team. Family members and neighbors. Tina turned to Ringstrom, noting his quiet anger before shifting her gaze to the bodies behind him. He stepped close to speak near her ear. “We dug 'em out, but haven't done anything else. Need your report before we move them.”

  She nodded, then tilted her head toward the crowd. Her voice was as soft as his. “Do they need to be here?”

  “Hell, they found the kids. Were already digging 'em out when we got here.”

  Tina sighed. “Okay. Give me twenty minutes.”

  The floodlights revealed nothing remarkable about the scene. They stood on a shallow incline, a small break in the steeper incline from above. A short distance below them, the incline gave another drop. Rocks of various sizes lay scattered about, all of them loose and still dangerous on the slope. Flattened shrubs revealed the path of the rocks, and a few feet away, a small tree stood cracked in two long pieces, with a boulder resting against it. On the ground next to the boulder was a blanket. Tina climbed around a smaller rock, knelt next to the body, and pulled the blanket back with reverent hands.

  Les Chardes. One of her patients, a healthy boy she saw for annual checkups or sports injuries. Furious tears burned behind her eyes, but she shut them away. Cuts, contusions, and torn clothes did not indicate the cause of death. His head was free of major injury. But the crushed chest was obvious under the shredded shirt, revealing the near-annihilation of internal organs. Her lips tightened as she nodded to herself, looking up to stare at the rock, and further up the hill to follow its path. She stood, steering her flashlight along the slope.

  Ringstrom stood behind her. “His dad says he was lying pretty much like this when they found him. There were some rocks on him, but he must have been thrown clear when he was hit.”

  “He was hit squarely in the chest,” Tina said. “Probably the rock was bouncing and went on over him after hitting him.” She shook her head. “They all had to be on the path when the slide hit them and knocked them down.”

  “Yeah, but why would he be facing uphill? Why wouldn't he be running?”

  She shrugged. “Heard the noise perhaps, and looked up? Too terrified to move? It happens.”

  Pete Griffin was several feet to the east. He'd had a rougher tumble than Les, his body so mangled that Tina had to take Ringstrom's word for his identity.

  “Covered with rocks,” Ringstrom said.

  Tina sent her light searching along the ground as she knelt next to the body. “He's not all here.”

  “What's missing?”

  “An arm.” She stood, climbing up a few steps until the loose rocks forced her to stop.

  Ringstrom followed her, but stayed on solid ground. He touched her shoulder. “We'll do a thorough search in daylight, Doc. It's too dangerous in these conditions.” He gestured downhill. “Jason Fraizer's down there.”

  He'd fallen over the second steep hill, ending crumpled and torn next to a thirty-foot pine tree. Even from above, Tina could see the blood and gore splashed on the trunk. “Jesus,” she said.

  “Those poor kids.” Ringstrom’s voice was thick with tears. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his flat, professional tone was back. “We've got a rope over here, Doc. Be best if you hang on to it to keep your balance going down.”

  She took his advice, since the rain made the steep slope slippery. Her brief exam could not show a specific injury that caused death, but she thought he had died sometime in his terrifying roll down the hill. She gave Ringstrom permission to move the bodies. While instructions were issued, she stood and stared at the mountain, at the slope up to the trail, then above. There was just enough light to see the dark trees of the higher mountain, and perhaps make out the cleared path of the rock fall. She thought about the boys walking home along the trail, hearing a noise and looking up. She doubted any of them had time to start running. If it was already dark, they might never have seen the rocks coming.

  The EMTs put the bodies in bags, but the men in the search party had to help get them up to the road. Three fathers, one uncle, two cousins. One older brother, just sixteen. Two others were neighbors. Tina stood with the mothers as they watched and tried to understand that their sons were dead. She touched them all, held their hands, and assured them she would take good care of their children's bodies. She fought to keep her demeanor professional and competent, but she knew they saw her pain, too. Perhaps it gave them comfort to know that even professionals were heartbroken at this accident. Tina thought it would give her some comfort, if she were the mother.

  Chapter 8

  Farendale was Kaarmanesh's largest city, sited on the same island that in the human world held Manhattan. As Clive stepped through the portal with Magger in tow, it occurred to him that he preferred the Kaarmanesh version. Like the rest of their tangential dimension, Farendale was cleaner than New York. The air was fresher. There were more trees.

  Fewer people too, even if you counted the goblins. He tugged on the cuffs that attached his left arm to the clasped hands of his prisoner. Magger was staring around him at the high ceiling of the portal building, and the crowds of people hurrying to find an empty portal. Hi
s stare was not returned. Farendalers could be just as self-absorbed as New Yorkers.

  “Let's move, Maggot.” Clive eased into the crowd, forcing the goblin to scramble after him. He was glad for Magger's silence since the little beast had not ceased whining from the moment Clive picked him up at Sheriff Nancy's. It was almost enough to make him wish for a full moon.

  It was three short blocks to the building that housed Kaarmanesh Security. At eight stories, it was one of the tallest buildings in Farendale, its orange and blue awnings lending a cheerful air to the red exterior. That was, perhaps, a false impression, but Clive considered it a decent enough place to work. Most of his job was in the field, anyway.

  Magger seemed to relax as they entered the building, and Clive sent him a quizzical glance. “What's wrong, Maggot? Don't like crowds?”

  Magger's thick lips bent into a grimace. “What if I don't? Ain't a crime.”

  Clive shrugged, his interest waning. He pushed the goblin into an elevator, with an apologetic grin to the two female clerks who stopped several feet away. He held the door for them, but they shook their heads, one of them waving her hand in front of her face. Clive understood. It would take a while for Magger's stink to clear from this car. Goblins smelled worse than ever when they were anxious.

  That stink would cause a problem if he questioned Magger at his desk. After a moment's thought, Clive told the car to take them to the detention level. Might as well get the little beast settled in and question him later.

  He took his time signing Magger into detention, letting the goblin get a good look at the maddened rabble currently in the common room. The social order of the room flowed in a restless wave, changing with the species or power level of those in attendance. The only common theme was a disregard for the welfare of others. Magger watched them, his bulging lips pressed tight, his chin lifted in offended resolve.