“Please don’t let me crash, please don’t let me crash,” she muttered, not entirely sure if this was a prayer she was offering to God, to the Devil, or to the Charger itself.
An hour later, she pulled over, reached into her bag on the back seat, and pulled out some clothes. She put on socks and shoes and wrapped herself in a coat. The temperature in the car had plummeted. She covered Milo with a blanket, and drove on.
It took another hour and a half to get to Dayton, Ohio. She wasn’t taking the smaller roads, like Milo had. She stayed on I-70 and just kept heading east. By now, her parents would have searched her motel room, found the iPad, found the MapQuest search. They knew where she was headed, so there was nothing to be gained now by sneaking. It was a straight blast towards New York.
She kept glancing at Milo as she drove. He slumped, pale and sweating, unconscious. Unconscious but not dead. Amber was okay with that. She trusted the car to heal him.
She picked up speed after Dayton, got to Columbus in an hour, picked up more speed, then had to pull into a gas station as the tank was verging on empty. This worried her, but she filled it carefully, with reverence, almost like it was a blood transfusion. Then they got back on the road and made it as far as Pittsburgh before sunrise, and morning traffic started to clog the lanes.
At eight, Milo woke.
Amber took an off-ramp, drove through a few quiet streets until she came to a parking lot behind a crappy-looking gym. She helped Milo out of the Charger and he stood in his bare feet, straightening up slowly. His blood had drenched the passenger seat.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked.
“Bad,” he muttered. “But I’ve been worse.” He prodded the bullet hole in his ruined T-shirt, wincing every time. “I’ll be okay in a day or two. Maybe even a few hours.” He frowned, and looked around. “Where are we?”
“Somewhere in Pennsylvania,” she said. “We passed Pittsburgh, like, an hour ago. Maybe more.”
“You’ve been driving all night?”
“I wasn’t exactly going to be able to sleep.”
“No,” Milo said, “I guess not. Okay, this is good. We should we in New York in another five hours. I’ll drive.”
“You’re too weak.”
“I’ll be fine. Your turn to get some rest. Do me a favour – reach in there and grab my bag, would you? Get your own as well.”
Amber passed him his bag and found his boots tossed on to the back seat. She walked beside him as he limped to the gym, and watched him bribe the guy inside. Milo headed off to the men’s locker room, and she went to the women’s. She showered, brushed her teeth, and put on the jeans that were too long for her. She turned the ends up, pulled on a fresh T-shirt and a jacket, and went outside to wait by the car. Milo joined her a few minutes later. He was moving easier now, dressed in clean jeans and a jacket over a dark plaid shirt.
“Glen’s dead,” Amber said when he reached the car. Blurted, really.
Milo hesitated. “Yeah,” he said. “I figured.”
“A vampire did it. It’s how they tracked us.”
He nodded, and she looked away.
“Do you think she got away?” Amber asked. “Imelda, I mean. She could have escaped, right?”
Milo put his bag in the trunk. “She wasn’t getting away from that, Amber.”
She glared. “We should have gone back for her.”
“Then we’d both be dead, and my death would have been a lot quicker than yours. Keys?”
She handed them over. “Shanks is dead, too. The Charger let him out, you know.”
“I know. If it wasn’t for that, I would have been asleep when your parents’ buddies kicked down my door. Get in, Amber. We can’t afford to lose any more time.”
She opened the passenger door. There was no blood on the seat. The car had soaked it all up. Absorbed it.
She got in. Milo lowered himself, carefully, behind the wheel.
And they drove to New York. The car felt empty without Glen.
Amber felt empty, too.
She woke to a yellow cab blasting its horn at a bike messenger who was giving it the finger. Sitting up straighter, she wiped the drool from her chin and watched the brownstones tick by in a rhythm she could hear only in her head. The afternoon sun glinted off stained-glass windows and she checked the scars on her wrist: 122 hours left. Five days.
She yawned.
“You were having a bad dream,” said Milo.
“Was I? I don’t remember.” Plumes of steam poured out from orange and white pipes, twice the height of the people that passed them. This was the New York of the movies – not the gleaming skyscrapers of Manhattan, but scaffolding and cracked sidewalks, health-food stores and cafes and bricks and mortar the colour of chocolate. This was Brooklyn.
“Ever been to New York before?” Milo asked.
“Twice,” said Amber. “When I was eight and then again when I was twelve. We all went. Imelda took me up the Empire State Building and we saw the Statue of Liberty and we went to see The Lion King on Broadway. I don’t remember what my parents or the others were doing. Huh.”
“What?”
“Before all this, I thought Imelda didn’t like me all that much. But she was the only one who ever did anything with me.”
Milo looked at her. “If she’s still alive, and if it’s at all possible, we’ll get her back.”
They found a place to park – which wasn’t easy – and walked a few blocks to a pizzeria on Park Slope. Edgar Spurrier grinned when he saw them, half of his pizza topping spilling over and dripping on to his tie.
“Ah goddammit,” he said when he noticed. As he dabbed himself with napkins, Amber and Milo slid into the booth.
“You two,” said Edgar, dumping the napkins on the table beside him, “have been busy. Oh, I have been hearing about you and your adventures.”
Amber frowned. “From who?”
“From the folks in the know,” said Edgar. “Tittle-tattle. Scuttlebutt. The black Charger and the demon girl. This partnership of yours is garnering quite the reputation – and I’ve been sitting back and basking in the reflected glory of it all.” His smile left him. “And you stole my powder flask.”
“I meant to apologise about that,” said Milo.
“Did you? Did you really?”
“I thought we might have need of it before you would.”
“And you didn’t think to ask? You didn’t think that I would have gladly loaned you my powder flask, for which I paid more than a pretty penny, out of the goodness of my own heart?”
“Not really, no.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Edgar said, and shoved the rest of the slice into his mouth. Chewing, he said, “Do you still have it? You haven’t lost it, have you?”
“We still have it.”
“Good.” He chewed on, and swallowed. “Amber, how are your parent troubles?”
“They still want to kill me, if that’s what you mean.”
“They haven’t changed their minds about that, huh? A damn shame. My parents wanted to kill me when I was your age, too, but for entirely different reasons.”
“Have you had any luck finding Gregory Buxton?” she asked, but a waitress came over before Edgar could answer. They ordered a few slices and she walked off, taking Edgar’s crumpled-up napkins with her. Edgar leaned forward.
“I’ve been narrowing it down,” he said. “I not only have the neighbourhood, I have the apartment building, and I’m pretty sure I even have the apartment. Buxton’s been living under an assumed name – which I have naturally found out. All we have to do is stake the place out until he comes home.”
“I’m impressed,” Milo said.
Edgar shrugged. “I just do what I do. It’s no big thing. I mean, you couldn’t do it, and nobody you know could have done it, but I did it because I’m me, and I’m just that smart.”
“And insufferable.”
“That goes hand in hand with genius, my friend. I’m coming with you,
by the way.”
“Ah, Edgar, I don’t know about that …”
Edgar dropped his pizza slice. “You are not leaving me out of this. You’re about to go hunting a winged beast. A winged beast, for God’s sake. How many people get to say that in their lifetime?”
“Probably not very many.”
“Exactly. I’ve been studying this stuff for most of my adult life. Sure, I’ve tried to do things, practical things, every now and then, but none of them have met with any success. But this? Hunting a winged beast? This would be me doing something, instead of just reading about it. There are a multitude of untold horrors that lurk in America’s shadows, and I want to start stalking them.”
“You rehearsed that,” said Milo.
“Did not,” said Edgar. “It all came to me just then. Milo, come on – have I ever asked you for anything?”
Milo sighed. “No.”
“And Amber, do you owe me for all my help?”
“I guess.”
“Then it’s settled,” he said, and grinned wider.
“You,” said Amber, “are a very strange man.”
“I know,” said Edgar. “And I love it.”
GREGORY BUXTON’S APARTMENT BUILDING was right beside the East River. The other buildings on the street were redbrick, but this one was brown, the colour of dirt. The wall closest to the river was armoured with rusted scaffolding, and it was flanked by an auto-rental place on one side and the Kent Sugar Refinery on the other. The auto-rental place was devoid of any actual autos, and the Sugar Refinery was a flattened wasteland enclosed by barbed-wire fences.
Milo pulled over to the kerb on the corner. Night was falling, and New York was lighting up like a great beast opening its countless eyes. They crossed the street, took the stairs to the top floor. They knocked on Buxton’s door, and when nobody answered they moved away to wait. A little under an hour later, a black man in his sixties came up the stairs, went straight to the door and slid a key in. They walked up behind him.
“Gregory Buxton?” Milo asked.
The old man froze. Amber thought for a moment that he might make a break for it, but he surprised her by turning. He was tall, looked strong, with broad shoulders and thick forearms. His white hair was cropped short, and his face was heavily lined. She could see the remains of a handsome man beneath all that wear and tear. His mouth had settled over the years into a calm, straight line, and his eyes, while wary, were not unfriendly.
“Nobody’s called me that in years,” he said. “Come on in.”
He turned back to his door, opened it and walked inside. The door swung halfway shut, hiding him from view.
Milo took out his gun and they moved quickly but cautiously. Milo opened the door the rest of the way, and Amber watched Buxton leaning into his refrigerator.
“Got no beers, I’m afraid,” he said. “I used to drink, then decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. Got some juice and some soft drinks, though, if that tickles your fancy.”
He straightened up, saw Milo’s gun, and didn’t react one way or the other as they walked in. It was a drab apartment, but neat, and well maintained.
“I’ll have a juice,” said Amber.
He poured her a glass, left it for her on the table, and sank into his armchair, enjoyed the comfort for a moment with his eyes closed, and then looked up. “So who might you be?”
Amber stepped forward. “My name is Amber Lamont. This is Milo, and that’s Edgar Spurrier. They’re helping me.”
“Helping you do what, Amber?”
“My parents and four of their friends made a deal with the Shining Demon.”
“Aha,” said Buxton. “They’re the children-eaters, huh? Yeah, I heard about them. Tough break.”
“The Shining Demon said he’d renegotiate that deal so that I get to live … if I give him something he wants.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“And this is why you’re here? To ask if I’ll go peacefully?”
“I’m pretty sure you won’t.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re right. How did you find me anyway?”
“We just needed to know what to look for, and your son told us that.”
For the first time, Buxton looked interested. “You talked to Jacob?”
“We did more than that,” said Milo. “Amber took care of his witch problem.”
“No kidding? That thing’s been driving him nuts. How is he? He okay?”
“He’s good,” said Amber. “And so’s your mom.”
“You have been getting around. I do my best to check up on them from time to time, but there’s only so much I can do from all the way over here. I guess I owe you my thanks.”
Milo shrugged.
“How have you managed it?” Edgar asked. “Staying invisible for so long?”
“I did my research,” said Buxton. “I know all the tricks, all the little symbols you’ve got to scratch and the words you’ve got to recite. It’s limiting, though, I admit. I’m not as free as I’d like to be. Every move I make I’ve got to think of the possible ramifications. I’ve got to worry about stepping out of the shadows. One slip-up, just one, and the Shining Demon would be able to latch on to me and he’d never, ever let me go. I’ve stayed one step ahead of him all this time because I’ve been playing it patient and playing it smart. It’s not much of a life, but I’d be willing to bet that it’s better than death.”
“You haven’t stopped killing,” said Amber.
Buxton fixed her with a look. “No, young lady, I guess I haven’t. I didn’t plan on killing anyone, not at the start. I thought I’d get him to cure Jacob and then I’d take my son and vanish. But I had to be sure the cure was permanent, which meant Jake had to go through all these tests, and suddenly I was sticking around for a lot longer than originally intended. So I harvested souls, just like I said I would.
“Eventually I came to the conclusion that Jacob would be better off without me. The refrain of the deadbeat dad, huh? Yeah, I’m aware, but that doesn’t make it any less true. So I took off. All my tricks worked and the Shining Demon never came close to finding me. But, see, in order for my tricks to work, I needed some degree of … well, I guess you could call it mojo. And the only way I could get my mojo was to keep harvesting souls – only instead of passing them on to the Shining Demon’s grumpy old representative, I kept them for myself. The more I kept, the stronger I got, and the stronger I got, the more I harvested.”
“Then you must be pretty strong by now,” said Amber.
Buxton gave her a small nod. “Strong enough,” he said. “I try to harvest the guilty. Criminals, gangsters, corrupt officials, people like that … Their souls aren’t as potent as the innocent, but they’ll do the job. I’ve slipped up now and then – I ain’t proclaiming to be some sort of saint – but I do all right.”
Amber looked at him, sitting in his chair like he was chatting with his buddies. “How are you so calm?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because we’ve come to your door and told you we want to hand you over to the Shining Demon. If I were in your shoes, I’d be furious.”
“What good would that do?” Buxton asked. “You haven’t handed me over yet, have you? And you haven’t told the Shining Demon you know where I am or else he’d be here already. I figure I’ve got breathing space.”
“And if we said we were going to summon him right now,” said Edgar, “how would you feel then?”
Buxton shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to try to summon him to find out.”
Milo took his gun out again, and rested it on his knee. “You’re planning to kill us,” he said.
“I am,” said Buxton.
Edgar went pale. “But there’s three of us,” he said. “And we’ve got a gun.”
“I’ll manage,” said Buxton.
Milo gave a soft smile. “I’m pretty fast and pretty good.”
“You’ll have to be.”
“If we don’t hand
you over,” Amber said, talking quickly before the situation spiralled, “do you have any way to help me? If you know all the tricks, is there something we missed?”
Buxton took his eyes off Milo, and looked at her. “You’ve got two choices from what I know of your situation. You either keep running and hope they stop hunting you after a dozen or so years, or you hunt them. Personally, I’d hunt them down and kill them before they kill you.”
“I don’t want to kill anyone.”
“You killed that witch, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but …”
“You don’t think that witch was a living being? Sure, she might have been different from me and you, but she had a heartbeat. She drew breath. She had a life and you ended it. You’ve already killed, Amber.”
“I know that,” she said, a little too loudly. “I know.”
Buxton shrugged. “So killing a few more is surely no big deal.”
“What if she hides?” Milo asked. “You’ve stayed invisible to the Shining Demon for all this time – is there a way for Amber to do the same?”
“Sure,” said Buxton. “There wouldn’t be much mojo involved in that one. You’d just have to pick a small town, somewhere out of the way, somewhere off the Demon Road, and blend in. Spend the rest of your life there in this small, out-of-the-way place, never excelling in anything, never making a mark, never causing a fuss or creating a stir … Think you can do that, Amber? Think you can live a life of perfect ordinariness?”
She hesitated.
Buxton smiled. “Of course you can’t agree to that. I don’t care if you’re the most boring person on the planet – nobody’s going to choose a life of mediocrity.”
“I just want my parents to stop.”
“Then kill them.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then they’re going to win.”
“Isn’t there anything I could do?”