“No worries, Father. With the street fucked up, the cameras are probably out and half the police force will be hunkered down at home. By the time someone looks over the tapes, we’ll either be dead or heroes.”
“Or dead heroes,” says Candy.
Traven thinks for a long minute.
“At times of crisis, my mother used to recite an old Hungarian saying. ‘The strength of the serpent and the peace of the dove.’ ”
“I don’t know the last time I saw a dove,” Candy says.
“Then let’s do some slithering.”
Traven parks across the street from Blackburn’s abandoned hotel mansion.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going inside to talk to people and hurt them. Not necessarily in that order. You two are going to stay out here and watch my back.”
“I want to come with you,” says Candy.
“You can’t. I have to get through layers of heavy protective hoodoo. I don’t know if I can take anyone with me and this isn’t a great time to start experimenting.”
It takes her a minute but finally Candy nods.
I give her the Sig pistol.
“This is a .45. The bullets are bigger, so there aren’t as many as your nine-millimeter and the kick is a lot harder. If you have to shoot, do it slowly and carefully.”
“I still want to go with you.”
“I know.”
When I’m outside the car, my cell rings. I’m not in the mood for a chat but my blood’s up, so I’ll give the crank caller a friendly “fuck you.”
“Hello.”
A voice breaks up then repeats itself.
“Stark? Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting.”
It’s Patty Templeton.
“I told you I’d call you. Wait for me in the lounge.”
“What are you talking about? I’m outside. On the corner by the freeway. You called and said you were coming by to pick me up.”
The anger turns to a sick feeling in my stomach.
“Listen, it’s a trick. Go back to the dreamers’ building now. Run!”
“Oh God.”
She forgets to hang up. I listen to hear her running. Panting. She excuses herself and then curses, pushing through crowds.
Over the tops of the nearby buildings, black plumes rise like twisters into the sky. Somewhere, the city is burning.
Patty screams, her voice distorting into an animal wail through the tiny phone speaker. Then the crowd screams. What follows is a sound I recognize from the arena. A blade cutting through the air. Little girl’s laughs drift from the phone with the bloody, drowning gurgle of someone choking on their own blood.
The ground shakes beneath my feet. I expect to see Cherry but the shaking goes on. Windows up and down the street shatter and fall. The sound is like another thousand knives going into a girl’s throat. I brace myself against the Metro until the shaking stops. It takes a few seconds, and when it stops, I know that Patty Templeton is dead.
I don’t know how many people, Hellions, and hell beasts I’ve seen die over the years. The ones in the arena or the streets all went down the same way. In front of me. The worst times in the arena were when the games were going while I waited in my cell. All I could do was listen to the fighting and dying. Listening was so much worse than seeing. It was like dying by whispers. You were never sure if that other fighter was dead, paralyzed, or being eaten alive by a scaly beast. Dying by phone is no way to go. Not for anyone. Not for anyone I know.