The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh. Страница 57
The smell of burning steak broke the spell. I muttered an imprecation and grabbed the
pan off the burner.
Three blades. Whatever happened to Flower Power? No, it had to be knives, blades,
scythes. What was with kids these days?
“How many members per scythe?”
Behind me, Angus said, “Thirteen.”
“Do you know the members of the other blades?”
“That’s not permitted.”
“So thirteen of you took part in killing –”
“No! Adrien, I keep telling you I didn’t have anything to do with it. It was a rumor that
got started within the group.”
“It wasn’t entirely a rumor. Bodies are turning up.” I set his steak in front of him, and
after a moment’s hesitation, dug a fork and knife out of the silverware drawer.
“But we weren’t all involved in it. We aren’t all on the same level, you know.”
High school, college, the office, evil cults, everywhere you go, there’s that social
hierarchy to contend with.
“But you know who’s behind it.”
He began to carve his steak. “I don’t know who’s behind it. I’m not even sure who all
took part in the sacrifices. I know that I couldn’t go on. I couldn’t be a part of that. I wanted
to resign, but they wouldn’t permit it. They told me I was a traitor. Even the other ones who
wanted out called me a traitor.”
“Then why –?”
“I made a pledge. In blood. My blood,” he hastened to add at my expression. He rested
his utensils on the table edge, gazing at me earnestly. “Adrien, they think I’ll return to the
fold. I won’t. But I can’t break my oath.”
“Why would they think you might return to the fold?”
“That lawyer. Martin Grosser. He’s part of it. He’s the one who got me off.”
“How do you know that? Did Grosser say so?” I tried to picture that conversation.
“Not in so many words.”
“How many words did he use, and what were they?”
Angus shook his head, chewing ferociously.
“Who paid him?” I asked. “Do you know that? He must have told you.”
“Pro bono. He said he was doing it as a favor to me. A favor to a brother of the Blade.”
“But the Blade set you up.”
“Blade Sable set me up. He’s not with Blade Sable. He must be with one of the older
Blades. Maybe even Blade Scarlet. That’s where all the bigwigs are supposed to be.”
I recognized that they might have a certain amount of success if they ran their group
like a fraternal organization. Networking for Evil. Why not? The older, established members
could help the younger to find those dream jobs and social connections. The younger
members could provide whatever they had to offer: sex, drugs, cheap labor…their weekly
allowance.
Angus drained his beer. “Adrien,” he said tentatively. “Do you think you’d be able to
pay me my last paycheck?”
I thought of the eight hundred dollars I had already shelled out for the privilege of
involving myself in another murder case.
“Er…yeah. Sure. When did you need it by?”
“Tonight.” He turned back to his dinner. “I’ll try to be gone by the time you open the
shop.”
I thought that was probably a good idea.
When Angus finished his meal, I pulled out the inflatable mattress I kept in the disaster
area I fondly called my store room. I removed a stack of blankets from the linen cupboard,
following Angus as he walked none too steadily downstairs.
He chose to sleep in the back of the store deep in the canyons of bookshelves.
“I won’t forget this, Adrien,” he said, building a nest of blankets for himself.
“It’s okay.” I hesitated, then had to ask. “Is Guy involved with the Scythe of Gremory?”
“What guy?”
“Guy Snowden.”
He shook his head. “A couple of us met during his courses, but I don’t think…” He
stopped.
“You don’t think what?”
“I don’t think so, but I guess he could belong to one of the other blades. I kind of
wondered about that myself.”
“Did you ever hear of anyone named Oliver Garibaldi?”
He snickered. “No. Sounds like a spaghetti sauce.”
“I’ll leave the bank draft on my desk in the office.”
“Okay.” He wrapped himself in the blankets, set his glasses carefully to the side. He
blinked at me. “Thank you, Adrien. For everything.”
“Uh-huh. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Twenty-one
I made sure to get downstairs early next morning. Even so, Angus was already gone. He
had made himself coffee in the office, and taken the check from the desk. The blankets he
had used were folded on the chair.
I tidied away all traces of his visit before Velvet arrived.
As disloyal as it seems, I hoped he did not come back. I was sorry for him. I didn’t want
him punished for something he hadn’t done, but I couldn’t understand or reconcile myself to
his moral apathy. Oh, I understood that he was afraid, and I believed what he had told me
about not actively participating in murder. I could cut him slack for being young and being
(as Guy had pointed out) a follower rather than a leader. I knew it wasn’t fair to judge when
I didn’t know what in Angus’s past might have knocked his moral compass so far off-kilter. I
knew – but the simple truth was, I was appalled.
I pulled out the pictures from Gabriel Savant’s signing that I had started to sort through
days ago. One by one, I flipped through them, scrutinizing each glossy candid. The place had
been wall-to-wall Goth princesses and Stevie Nicks clones. So much for celebrating the
individual.
I paused at a picture of Savant giving his talk. In the background was a girl with blonde
hair, feathery tips tinted black. She had turned her face at the moment the shutter clicked. I
examined the next photo. A slice of her two-toned hair had made the frame, but next to her
was a now-familiar mohawk and pugnacious face behind heart-shaped glasses.
Betty Sansone.
I laid the photo aside. Studied the next one. Well, well. A Kodak Moment.
Kinsey Perone alive and in the flesh. A lot of flesh, as a matter of fact. It’s a wonder she
hadn’t died of pneumonia.
So, even if Betty and Kinsey had not been part of the Savant entourage, they had been
at the bookstore that evening – the evening the disk disappeared. The evening that had