Page 32 of Death Wish

Her head jerked my way one more time before running to the trailer. As she and Wyatt walked into the house, Cole stayed behind for me to walk over.

“What the heck did you do to her?” he whispered.

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“She saw you?”

“I think so.”

“It’s taken me years to get her to not take a chunk out of my leg. Hence the jerky. That’s the only thing that seemed to work for me.”

I shrugged again.

Cole touched the door, but before he walked in, he paused. “Oh, and as I mentioned before. Be very careful where you step. If you see any markings on the floor or walls, do not touch them.”

What did that mean?

Again, before I could ask more, he stepped inside.

I was beginning to believe he was doing this on purpose.

When I passed through the door, I stopped short. I knew trailers weren’t the most spacious of homes, but this one was packed in tight by boxes, books, and papers stacked on top of each other from floor to ceiling. They were everywhere.

To my left was a small kitchenette, but the hoard had even stretched into there. Scrolls were shoved into the kitchen cabinets instead of food, and more boxes crowded the counters. To the right was a living room area, which was the most congested. A small path had been made from the door to a desk and a battered old armchair. Overpacked shelves lined the walls behind them, blocking a fairly big window. Actually, the more I looked around, the more I realized how dark the space really was. Every window had been covered, either by a heavy shelf or by plywood boards.

He was clearly trying to keep someone out.

Or something.

Besides the dingy interior, layers of dust on everything, and not-so-pleasant smells of cigarettes, mildew, and old books, this place could be a librarian’s wet dream.

Or nightmare. The disorganization would probably drive them crazy.

Wyatt collapsed in his armchair and reached into his front shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. Angel curled up at his feet; this was their obvious routine.

Cole sidestepped carefully through the small pathway, and it was then that I noticed the strange markings spray painted on the carpet. He tried not to make his movements conspicuous, but I saw them. He was avoiding the marks, stepping around them as gracefully as he could manage.

The symbols on the floor were foreign to me. They reminded me a bit of the ones that made up the spirit door and transportation portals, but the details were hard to see completely. Most of them were covered by the piles of junk, but if Cole was doing his best to avoid them, there had to be a good reason. I would have to ask him about it later.

I mimicked his movements, following as close to the wall as I could so I didn’t touch the marks.

“Where is Sean?” Cole asked, glancing around the room. I guessed the bedrooms in this place were off the kitchen and maybe Sean was in one. I wondered if they were as tightly crammed as everywhere else.

Wyatt puffed on his cigarette. “He ran out to town. He should be back soon.” His scowling expression turned more suspicious. “Let’s cut the shit, Cole. Why are you here bothering me again?”

“Straight to business. It’s one of the many things I like about you.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, yeah.” He took another deep draw of his cigarette.

Time to cut the bullshit, as the old man had said.

“I ran into Xaver.” They were four simple words that to anyone else would have meant nothing, but by the way Wyatt’s eyes flew open and he half choked on his next puff, he knew exactly who Cole was talking about.

He sputtered and coughed for a minute as he struggled to regain his breath. When he finally did, he stubbed out the cigarette and moved to the edge of his armchair. What was even more surprising was that the grimace was gone and a grin sat in its place. “You found him?”

“You really didn’t believe I would?”

“Hell no, I didn’t. Xaver isn’t some Halfling Hell minion. He’s a full-blood.”

---