Part 10 (1/2)

10.

BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS.

VIRGINIA.

MOONLIGHT s.h.i.+MMERED ACROSS the polished wooden floor of the mountain cabin, mottled leaf-shadows dancing along the polished planks as the wind s.h.i.+fted outside. Had there been anyone present, he might have heard the soft chirping of crickets, their normally shrill song muted to a low musical throbbing by the thick plate gla.s.s. Almost peaceful. After that he might have heard a rustling overhead, the quick patter of animal feet across the roof, and a scratching sound at the top of the chimney. Then movement inside the chimney itself, and the sound of something slowly descending. Then a pause, and a dull thunk as the metal flue opened.

A large racc.o.o.n dropped down into the fireplace.

It sat there for a moment, dark eyes alert, nose vibrating as it drank in the smells of the place. Then, when it had verified that the cabin was empty, it pushed past the fire screen and entered the living area.

It began to search. Not as an animal normally does, instinctively following scent cues to their source, but methodically, geometrically, studying every inch of the place with its piercing black eyes, lowering its nose to test any item that seemed out of place.

It paused at a side table and savored the trace aroma of hamburgers and french fries. A chicken nugget had fallen onto the floor when the table had been hurriedly cleaned. The racc.o.o.n glanced at it briefly, but otherwise showed no interest. It paused at the couch, its nose wrinkling as it drank in the traces of sweat, fear, and fire that clung to the crisp chintz.

It paused in each bedroom, tasting the human scents that lingered on the sheets.

It jumped up onto the dining room table and walked over to where two neatly folded papers were standing upright, tucked between a vase of artificial flowers and a marble napkin-holder. For a moment it c.o.c.ked its head to one side, and a fanciful observer might have imagined that it was trying to read who they were addressed to.

Then, with small and dainty hands, it drew the papers out.

For Dad, said one.

For Evelyn Drake, said the other. Currently in Mana.s.sas Hospital. Pls deliver. Tx!

Opening the letters, the racc.o.o.n glanced briefly at their contents. Then it folded them again, took them in its mouth, and carried them back to the fireplace.

And up the chimney.

And out into the night.

Other than the chirping of crickets, the cabin was silent once more.

11.

OBFUSCATE GUILDHOUSE IN LURAY.

VIRGINIA PRIME.

WHEN TOMMY'S MIND FINALLY CLEARED, he found himself in what appeared to be a prison cell. The narrow metal bed he was lying on was bolted to the floor. A toilet seat without a lid was in one corner, and a sink and shelf table were bolted to the wall near another. There was a narrow horizontal slit in one wall through which a sliver of sunlight was visible, but it was too high up for him see anything other than sky. The walls were made of stone, so he wasn't going to be breaking out that way any time soon. Ditto that note for the door, which was made of metal, with a mail slot in the center. The flap was on the outside.

He didn't know where he was.

He didn't know who had brought him there.

He didn't know what they wanted with him.

He did know he must have been drugged with something pretty powerful, probably hallucinogenic in nature. Crazy, disjointed visions from the night before were still reverberating in his mind: a soaring arch with crystals exploding from its surface, a corpse-like man who trailed ghosts in his wake, a glowing pattern of golden lines that filled the air all around him. It seemed to be slowly clearing out of his head now, but the real world was still a little hazy around the edges. Whatever drug they'd given him, it had been a doozy.

But that didn't explain what he'd seen before he was drugged. He remembered with unnerving clarity the moment when he'd looked into the face of his attacker and seen something other than human features. It was the kind of face that belonged in a fantasy game, not a teenager's bedroom. Was it possible that memory was real? He couldn't even consider it without trembling.

What the h.e.l.l was that thing?

Suddenly he heard footsteps outside his door: dull and heavy, a man's stride. He levered himself up to a sitting position and then stood, trying not to look as anxious as he felt. His balance was a bit shaky, so he leaned against the bed frame to steady himself. As the door opened he drew in a deep breath, readying himself to run, or scream, or do whatever else the moment required.

Two men were visible in the doorway. One was tall and pale and wearing a knee-length black coat that b.u.t.toned up to the neck, like a priest's ca.s.sock. The other looked like a guard of some kind, and indeed, as the first man stepped into the room the second remained at the threshold, glaring at Tommy as if he expected some sort of trouble from him.

As his visitor came into the light Tommy gasped and backed away, until the stone wall at his back made it impossible to move any further.

The man wasn't human!

He had the same shape as a human being, and the same general arrangement of features, but there the resemblance ended. His eyes were too large for his head and they had slit pupils, like a cat's. His nose was tiny and he had almost no lips, which made the cat-eyes seem even larger by contrast. His skin was a strange mottled grey, and the fingers peeking out from the long arms of his coat were considerably longer than fingers should be.

Tommy recognized him. Not just from a thousand horror movies. This was what his kidnapper had looked like.

His heart pounding wildly, he felt a powerful urge to flee, but there was nowhere to go. ”Who are you?” he demanded, trying to sound braver than he felt. ”Why am I here?”

The creature looked at him curiously, as if Tommy was some strange kind of bug that had just crawled in the window, and he wanted to figure out what it was before he squashed it. ”I am Alistair Wells, Master of the Guild of Obfuscates. I'm the one who ordered that you be brought here, and I'm the one who will ultimately determine your fate. So I suggest you do your best to remain on my good side.”

The utter mundanity of the creature's name, combined with its quasi-British accent, threw Tommy completely off his guard. ”What . . . what do you want?” he stammered.

”Ah. The cooperative approach.” The creature nodded. ”Very good.”

He nodded to the guard, who closed the door from the outside. ”I have an interest in your dreams, Mister Drake. If you would be so good as to describe some of them for me, I might find myself well-disposed toward you.”

Tommy blinked in astonishment. ”My dreams? That's what you want from me? My dreams?”