Crack the Spine, page 14
“And you,” Rita said, pulling Frankie into a hug. “You remind me of my Linda. She’s the type who always points with her middle finger. She gets her intent across, sure. She’s just oblivious to what else she’s saying.” Rita squeezed Frankie’s arms. “Come back some time, will you? Oh, I’m going to miss you, my darlings.”
“Did you ever think of adopting kids of your own?” Frankie asked.
Kendall shared an eyeroll with Diego for the naïve question.
“Ugh, children. If you’re under the age of eighteen, don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me! The thought gives me hives.” Rita laughed. “Although I did write a children’s book once, if you can believe that. It was called There’s a Head in the Cupboard. Real cute little cozy murder mystery. Not a bestseller. These were the days before self-publishing, mind you.”
After Frankie climbed into the back, Leif set his seat upright and got in.
Rita closed Jian’s door for him. “Look at you, like sardines! But your auntie’s VW isn’t a better option for you. On that note, Mr. Yang . . .”
Jian grinned at her arched eyebrow. “She’s all good to go. The keys are in the kitchen. Put some traps in the garage, please, or the mice are going to keep eating her wires.”
“How else am I going to keep you entertained over Thanksgiving?” Rita pursed her lips and squeezed Jian’s cheek. “You are a godsend, handsome. Do be careful, my precious darlings.”
As they pulled away waving, Rita kissed her fingertips and waved back.
After Diego gave Jian directions at the first intersection, Frankie asked, “So that’s what Marcélite wants? Rita’s house or a home like hers? That’s what you’re all working toward?”
“Yeah,” Diego answered. “But on steroids. Lots of rooms. Space for everybody who needs it. For as long as they need it.”
“That’s beautiful.”
Chapter 16: The Chronicler
Golden hour had taken over Louisiana by the time they arrived in Arcadia, a town twice the size of Stamps but still tiny.
“Two stoplights,” Frankie said. “Civilization.”
Kendall grinned. “Now you’re getting it.”
Several miles out of town, they joined a stream of cars heading to the three-story brick mansion built on old farmland. Pine trees had been grown in the old cotton fields, providing privacy to the new owner and his visitors. English gardens and winding brown pebble pathways welcomed all who pulled into the long drive. Spanish moss clung to the older trees that had likely witnessed the atrocities committed here in the past. Jian took his cue from the queue ahead of them and parked in the grass next to the car they were following.
They got out and stood around the car, watching the passersby. Everyone else wore red robes, hiding their faces deep in their hoods as they made their way to the staircase leading to the peach-bricked mansion’s wraparound balcony.
“What is this?” Frankie whispered.
“Bad timing,” answered Kendall. “Just keep your head down, and no one will assume you’re here for the orgy.”
“Um, what now?”
Kendall laughed. “The South nurtures a lot of traditions, Frankie. Thankfully, this one is harmless. Besides, we’re not going upstairs. Well, I’m not. No judgments if any of you want to.” She teased her with a grin. “‘Two by two, into the voyeur’s brew.’ The Chronicler is the reason you should always assume someone is watching you through your camera.” She stared at the robed cultists still arriving. “Look at them all. Off to a key party for their god.”
“Key party?” Frankie asked.
“Um, hello,” Diego said defensively. “Can we remain sex-positive, please? We are not here to slut-shame anyone. Nor should we at any time when consent is given.”
Jian snickered.
“Jian.”
Jian straightened his lips and pointed at his face. “Nope. Not shaming.”
“Thank you.” Diego strode ahead.
Leif grabbed his shoulder and slowed him, letting the three who had been there before lead the way. Under an onion-domed tower, they crunched along the pebble-stone pathway. Knee-high hedges corralled them to the stairs where everyone else ascended. They ducked through an archway on the patio and went to the oak double doors with a fan-shaped window inset above.
Kendall knocked.
Adjusting the strap on her computer bag, Frankie kept watch on the robed figures still arriving and heading upstairs. “Are we safe here?”
Kendall knocked again. “He’s more interested in knowledge than stealing your computer. That’s why they’re called Chroniclers.”
“They?”
“A race of immortals,” Leif answered. “They are said to have existed long before humans—perhaps from other worlds sent here to observe and record evolution.”
“For all Earth’s inhabitants, not just humans,” Kendall explained. “This one . . . he broke from the others’ code and became obsessed with humanity—specifically sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Easy on the rock and roll.”
“Why?”
She outright banged on the door. “The internet.”
Jian said directly into a camera over the door, “Pretty much a pervert. If you ever took a naked pic, this guy’s got it on file.”
“I haven’t. And gross. Why would he archive that?”
“Like I said, he’s broken.” As Kendall reached to pound again, the door opened. The hired guard stared at her, though she gawked at his assault rifle. “We’re here to see him. Obviously.”
The guard gestured down the copper-brown hallway with his gun.
She went first and noted the turret set up at a bend in the corridor. A wired webcam had been installed over the barrel. Once they passed it, a series of clicks assured them it pointed at their backs, spurring Diego up next to Kendall.
Another guard directed them into the library with a nod.
They accessed the grand foyer to the library. Stairs led down into the main room, where the ceilings backed away to allow views up to the skylights three stories above. Walls lined with books and glass-encased artifacts flanked their descent and walk to the grand stage, a dais where the Chronicler himself sat in a tank of viscous pink goo. Cables of various thicknesses protruded from the back of his head, neck, and spine. Unhooked, she imagined he would have blended in well with humans, especially in the Middle East. His eyes remained closed, giving him the appearance of sleeping. But Kendall knew better. She waved to one of the dozens of cameras that supervised their approach more attentively than the hired guards positioned along the dais.
Straight from the cover of a Men’s Health magazine, a bare-chested white man with stubble stepped up to a podium on the dais and gathered his blue robe around him. The cultist checked the screen in front of him. “You are acknowledged.”
Diego whispered, “That’s not a greeting.”
“Hello,” Kendall said directly to the Chronicler. “We’ve come for your assistance in tracking someone down.”
The Adonis checked his screen. “He can’t see Tara Lipscomb. Leave him to his evening.”
“What does that mean?” Frankie asked. “Why can’t he see her?”
“She’s hidden,” the Chronicler’s cultist answered. “It’s not unusual. Millions are hidden from him at any given moment. Now take your leave.”
“Only millions?” Frankie asked.
“Makes sense,” Kendall said up to the jacked-in immortal. “You couldn’t even keep the Lyceum from learning the truth of our new identities. Such sloppy work doesn’t warrant very high expectations. Neither does the fact that you didn’t bother to tell us the information had been breached. We’re coming to understand your limits more and more.”
Fingers appeared over the edge of the tank before the Chronicler pulled himself upright. The thick pink substance filling the tank slowly dripped from his body. For the first time she had seen, he opened his eyes. Agate-orange irises stared directly at Kendall.
She stared back. “While it is disappointing you can’t help us find Tara outright, we’re asking you to provide reparations for not upholding your end of our agreements in which you promised uncompromised identities. We simply need your help in finding Tara’s abductor.” Kendall held out her hand. “Computer.”
“Right, one sec.” Frankie unzipped her computer bag, opened her laptop, and readied it before setting it on Kendall’s hand.
Keeping her eyes on the Chronicler, Kendall brought the computer closer to the camera on the turret before the dais. “We need to know who this man is and where we can find him.”
“His identity is known,” the cultist read. “Revealing it puts me and my followers at great risk of retaliation. What do you offer to make our deal appealing?”
Kendall closed the laptop. “No apologies, then? The damage is done. Evidence of our identities and the strings you pulled has already been documented. You owe us. Think about our position. We’re at risk here, and we paid for security. Security you promised in our last deal.”
“A moment,” the cultist said.
The Chronicler’s eyes shifted to a guard on the dais. Outfitted as well as a soldier, a tall black man with a beard that matched the length of his close-shaven scalp sidled away from the glare.
“No, wait!” Kendall yelled.
A single boom echoed through the chamber, startling her and her friends. She stepped back to them as the guard fell dead to the floor.
“The breach has been mended,” the cultist said, less confidently than before. His gaze kept returning to the Chronicler as he nervously licked his lips. “The Lyceum is not the threat you—”
“Leave us,” an inhuman, digital voice said over the sound system. It echoed through a myriad of speakers about the room. The Chronicler’s guards immediately scurried to the nearest exit, leaving them alone with the immortal, his cultist, and the corpse.
“What is happening?” Diego asked Kendall.
“Kendall Blake,” the robed man said. “He wishes to meet with you alone.”
She closed the laptop and turned back to the others. “Go. I’ve got this.”
Frankie and Diego looked to the others, who stood firmly in place, Jian shaking his head.
She forced the laptop on Frankie. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. Go!” She’d feel better with them out of the room in case he decided to start a different sort of negotiation.
Heavy-footed, her friends made their way up to the entrance of the chamber and out to the hall, all the while checking on her as though she would change her mind.
Her gaze fell to the man on the floor. His death was the result of her bravado. She didn’t know she was ratting someone out.
A loud smack brought her attention to the Chronicler before a rattling issued from his throat. Unable to speak, he closed his mouth. “Do not mourn him,” the digital voice said. “You would not deem him worthy of it, if you saw him through my eyes. My eyes see far more clearly now. The fog has faded. I know your face. I see you clearly too, daughter of O’mina, daughter of Ramses. It is the Spine you seek to crack.”
Her head spun with questions. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
His long fingernail pointed to the man in the blue robe, who went pale. “Permit him to draw a vial of your blood. That is my price. In return, you shall receive what you have requested.”
Considering what he would do with her blood, she asked, “Is he even trained to take it?”
“I’m-I’m a registered nurse,” the cultist answered. “I’ve got the supplies we would need here.” He set about rummaging through the bags lying beside the tank.
O’mina. Ramses. The Spine. Unsure what leverage she had left, she didn’t want to jeopardize their reason for being there with demands. They would receive exactly what they had come for, what they had been working toward for days. “Deal.”
The nurse left the chamber and returned with a chair. He carried it and a medical bag down from the dais. “Please have a seat.”
As he prepped her arm for the withdrawal, Kendall beheld the Chronicler. “If you had to guess, would you say Tara is still alive?”
His gaze wandered away from her, then his eyes closed. “Yes. That is an educated guess.”
The answer made her more comfortable with the trade. “Thank you.” Somewhere out of view, a dot matrix printer began buzzing. With the full vial of her blood in his hand, the nurse returned to the dais and tore a sheet of paper free. He tore it again before coming back down to deliver it. With the printed slip of paper in her hand, she lingered for a moment, watching the wired god in his vat. Then she addressed the camera on the turret. “Thank you.”
Upon leaving the library, she found her friends standing behind a guard, who blocked their way back inside. They wore their concern openly.
“What does he need with your blood?” Leif asked before the guard had even stepped out of her way. But Kendall kept walking.
“We heard everything,” Jian said once they reached the humid night outside. “O’mina and Ramses, again? And you’re their daughter? What’s the Spine? What did he mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Marcélite will? In any event, the Chronicler believes Tara is alive. And we’ve got an address.” She handed the slip of paper to Diego. “Let’s pay this Marcus Wilder on Harmony Street a visit.”
“We’re going home?” Jian asked.
“We’re going home.”
Chapter 17: Infernal Trade
When Jian cracked the driver’s-side window, Kendall had hoped for a breeze to accompany the defogging. Neither came to fruition. All five of them sat antsy and ready to get out of the stuffy car as they studied Marcus Wilder’s townhome in the affluent Garden District neighborhood. White blinds and curtains concealed the dark interior. Landscaped with knee-high shrubs, the brick home felt excessively normal with its painted shutters, potted peonies, and an American flag. But then, sometimes it takes a freak to recognize the abnormality in that.
“He has a video doorbell,” Jian said.
Frankie opened her laptop. “Good.” She squinted that way. “Green light. Dingdong Systems. Maybe he has indoor surveillance too.” Her computer chimed to life, filling the car with a bright glow.
“Check to see if any real estate sites have interior photos too,” Kendall said. “It’ll give us a better idea about what we’ll be walking into.”
“One sec,” replied Frankie. She handed Diego her external hard drive and plugged it in. “Let me crack this first.”
Kendall kept an eye out for pedestrians and approaching cars. She found it hard to believe any part of the city was this quiet in the middle of the night, yet nothing stirred. “I wish I had my phone. He doesn’t have a garage that I can see. Is there an alley around back?”
“Let me out,” Diego said. “I’ll go look.”
His request was met with a resounding, “No.”
“Sit tight, Diego,” Frankie said. “This won’t take long. I’m already on his Wi-Fi.”
Twisting in his seat, Jian asked, “You’re really that good?”
“If you think that’s good, then sure. I never let a Bug Mash or Hackathon pass me by. My friends say I get a little too competitive though. Immortal Blood, the MMORPG, threatened to ban me if I didn’t stop sending bug reports and fixes to the devs. It would have been worth it if they would just fix the damage output on Sacred Spikes for other healers. As it stands, my end-game cleric can’t clear a mid-tier mob in under two minutes; I kid you not. I would’ve risked fixing it myself, but I love my guild too much to give it up.”
He sat back. “I’m sorry I asked.”
“I swear to God, if we get Tara back, I’ll wear my white hat for the rest of time.” Her fingers stilled. She drew in a deep breath. “How’s this for layout?” She forced the laptop into Diego’s lap, preventing him from seeing what the others could.
Fifteen cameras, not including the doorbell, provided surveillance into his home, including a couple in each of the three bedrooms.
“So, he’s either paranoid or perverse,” Kendall said.
Frankie nodded. “And cheap. Sure, the system works. But anyone’s grandmother could get through Dingdong’s paper-thin firewall. Never skimp on your security, people.”
Leif unfastened his seatbelt for a better view. “The garage and bedrooms are empty.”
Every room was well-appointed and put together. “It looks staged,” Kendall said. “Does anyone even live there? And if they do, is there enough space in that layout for a hidden room or cell? I don’t see where he could be holding Tara.”
With an irritated growl, Diego turned the laptop around to see what they were seeing. “The Chronicler said she was hidden from his sight. He would have been able to see all of this, right?”
Frankie shuddered. “That’s so creepy.”
“He just heard you say that,” Jian teased, though it was probably true. “Let’s go see what we can find.”
“Wait,” Frankie said, taking her laptop back. “I haven’t deactivated the alarm yet.”
“Then do it.”
“Don’t rush me. I have to change his notification settings first. Otherwise, the system will tell him we deactivated it.” Her computer randomly dinged as she worked away. “You should mask up. I can’t stop the video feeds from going to the cloud; there’s a cellular backup in place.”
“We’re also parked on camera,” Kendall said.
“No, it’s OK,” replied Frankie. “You can’t see the car very well behind the gate corner. But when we leave, reverse us back to the next street to keep the plates from showing.”
“Noted,” Jian said. “We good?”
She slapped her laptop closed. “We’re good.”
“Who’s keeping an eye out here?” Kendall asked.
“Not it!” Diego proclaimed. “I always sit outside.”
“Pretty sure this is the first home we’ve invaded, D.”
“It’s not,” replied Leif.
“Oh, yeah.”
“Anyway,” Diego said, “we don’t have phones. How would the lookout tell the others Marcus was home?”
Kendall knocked on Jian’s seat. “Let’s just go, then. Five can search faster than four.”
