Harvester Page 9

  Eddie threw up his hands and let them slap against his thighs. “Then what do we do?”

  Benny pursed his lips. “That is an excellent question.” He met Mike’s gaze. “I sure wish Toby was here.”

  “All of them,” Mike murmured. “I wish we knew where Toby was.”

  “If wishes were fishes…” said Amanda in a singsong voice.

  “Then I guess we have to wait. The researchers digging into the history of the lamp might turn something up.”

  “How likely is that?” asked Eddie.

  “If it were one or two people? Not likely at all. Greg set up this human search engine thing, though, so it isn’t just one person, it’s a lot of people, and they’re working twenty-four hours a day.” Benny slid forward to sit on the edge of the recliner’s seat. “In the meantime, we can discuss your abilities.”

  “It’s better than sitting here, twiddling our thumbs.” Eddie cocked his head to the side. “But going back to this human search engine thing for a second.”

  “Yes?”

  “Can they look into something for us?”

  “Absolutely,” said Benny.

  “We got this letter the day Abby appeared in our kitchen.” Amanda held the letter out to Benny.

  He took it and read it. When he finished, he handed it to Mike. “I take it the letter is some kind of scam?”

  “That’s what we thought. We certainly never agreed to sell our house to anyone.”

  “And what is this Stanton Growth Fund?”

  “It’s an investment fund. Right now, the fund is hot—the manager is a guy named Chris Stanton. He’s become a recluse—often shutting himself up in his office for days at a time—and through some process no one understands, he has had ridiculous success picking investments with long odds and big payoffs.”

  “That’s interesting,” murmured Benny. “I helped Toby do the same thing. It would be interesting to see this guy’s trades. But I’ll ask the SPECTRe researchers to look into this land grab thing.” He swiped his phone open and entered what he wanted into the app Greg’s team had created. “Shouldn’t take long,” he said.

  4

  Lilitu snorted and rolled her eyes. “Well, I can tell you what we shouldn’t do, and that is to sit here moaning and wailing while allowing our enemies to entrench themselves.”

  “You don’t say! If only I had thought of that!” Naamah snarled, glowering at her mother.

  “Mistresses, please‍—‍” began Abyzou.

  “Why is it you always seem to need my help, and yet you always find a way to make it my fault?” Lilitu stood and paced to the picture window.

  “Mistresses! Stop this!” snapped Abyzou. “This stupid infighting accomplishes nothing. Our situation is dire, and yet, here both of you sit sniping at one another as you always have. Well, let me ask you something: what has this cat fighting ever gotten you? Has it ever weakened either of your positions; has it ever softened either of your hearts? Why must you persist in this childish game?”

  Lilitu had stepped halfway to the picture window and turned to face Abyzou, her eyebrows arched. “Please, Abyzou. Don’t check your punches. Tell us how you really feel.”

  Naamah snorted. “Is that the most you have ever spoken to me at one time, Abby? Should I call for water? Because your throat must be parched.”

  Wearing a wry smile, Lilitu stepped closer to the golden ifrit. She put a hand on Abyzou’s shoulder. “It’s been hard for you, hasn’t it? Always having to stand between us, to referee our petty arguments.”

  Abyzou said nothing, only closed her eyes and sighed.

  “It must feel hopeless,” said Naamah.

  “Perhaps we do take things too far, Naamah.”

  The vermillion ifrit nodded but squinted at her mother.

  “To business then, with all ‘petty cat fighting’ tabled. For now.”

  “Agreed,” said Naamah. “You said the talisman is in a container that you can’t penetrate?”

  “Yes. I can only find it in the Chthonian realm. From there, I can slide my awareness inside the talisman, and through it into the dark space in which they’ve placed it.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Abyzou, but you used the talisman as an anchor for your…family projects. But isn’t it also true that you can locate your subjects even in its absence?”

  “Once things have progressed past a certain point, yes.”

  “And were those your subjects in the black SUV?”

  Abyzou cocked her head to the side. “Two of them, yes. The pair that arrived late for the party.”

  “But they did leave with the hunters?”

  Abyzou nodded.

  “Then it stands to reason that they may be with them still. Can you locate them?”

  Abyzou dropped her gaze to the ground, but not before Lilitu glimpsed her wan expression. “Mistress…”

  “Oh, I see. They have not yet reached that point?” asked Naamah.

  “It’s…” Abyzou winced and swallowed hard. “They… That is, Eddie hasn’t…” She gave up speaking and scowled at the carpet.

  “Eddie hasn’t what?”

  Abyzou raised her gaze to meet Lilitu’s. Her face was locked in a rictus of shame, her eyelids fluttering as though she had something in her eye. “He has resisted me!”

  “Ah,” murmured Naamah.

  “I understand. Despite our best efforts, sometimes things take a turn. It’s not your fault, dear one.” Lilitu turned and stared out the window. “But still, there must be some way we can find them. Even if it is only one of them, we can drag the truths from him.” Lilitu turned back to face Naamah and Abyzou, raising her arms as if to hug them both. “From time to time, we all may find a human with a spectacular will—enough willpower to resist us—but no man can resist all three of us.”

  Despite her shame, Abyzou smiled.

  “True enough,” said Naamah. “There’s something I should add.”

  “Yes, mija?”

  “I know where the talisman is.”

  Lilitu sucked her teeth. “Then why this charade?”

  “It’s an object lesson. I know where the talisman is because of a very inventive mazzikim. I wanted you both to see that they are more than cattle. They can help us.”

  Lilitu turned her gaze on Abyzou, and after a few breaths, both giggled like schoolgirls.

  “They can.”

  “Yes,” said Lilitu, trying to stem her laughter. “I’ll grant you that your pet mazzikim has saved us a bit of work, but we would have found it in any case. He did nothing we couldn’t do ourselves.”

  Naamah turned away with a sour expression on her face. “I’ll send a mazzikim for the talisman.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Unless you feel they wouldn’t be helpful.”

  5

  Toby stood in the center of the pavilion, looking out onto the maelstrom of sand and wind. He had never minded being alone; in fact, he needed his alone time. But at the same time, his current situation nagged at him.

  The walls of the pavilion whipped to and fro, fighting against the stakes that held the silk down and wrestling with the wind. Toby looked around, taking yet another inventory of the materials he had on hand—the materials Lily had left for him. It didn’t seem likely that a silk pavilion would withstand the massive winds that he suspected accompanied a sandstorm. Yet again, he found nothing that would help him escape the storm.

  Overhead, thunder boomed, and lightning lanced into the sand far out in the desert. Toby shrank away from the opening, away from the fury of the storm, then laughed at himself. It’s not as if this silk tent will offer me more protection than being outside.

  Toby had never liked thunderstorms, and this new, drier version was no exception. Eddies of grit swirled through the opening, dust devils in miniature, and they danced around before losing their lifeline to the wind outside and collapsing back to mere dust. The taste of alkaline filled his mouth, and the odors of desert musk and cactus assaulted his nose.

  Sand casca
ded down the face of the dune that partially sheltered the pavilion and piled up inside the door. If the storm keeps going the way it is, it’s going to bury me in this little red tent.

  Toby stood in the center of the tent, watching the sand pile up at the entrance, watching as the sky got darker and darker, Lily’s name dancing on his lips. Accompanied by the booming sound of the storm's displeasure, lightning marched across the desert toward him.

  But still, Toby dithered. Do it, Toby, a voice in his mind said. Do it, do it, do it.

  He wanted to be somewhere else—anywhere else—and he knew of only one way he could escape the growling storm. Calling her name aloud will bring Lily in a heartbeat. No one could blame you; the storm is becoming more and more dangerous.

  Toby didn’t trust that voice in his head. It didn’t sound like himself.

  But he wanted to trust it.

  6

  “I never realized that I had this ability, you understand. It wasn’t until we came to that parking lot that I’d ever seen any of these…”

  “Demons,” said Benny.

  “Okay, sure. I’ve never seen any demons before yesterday morning—excluding Abby, of course, though I didn’t realize she was a demon. Dr. Erikson spent a lot of time and effort convincing me that she was a fabrication of my own mind.”

  Benny’s expression soured. “Ah, a psychiatrist?”

  “Psychologist.”

  “Same thing.” Benny waved it away. “But now you know better.”

  Eddie nodded. “Now we know better, but I can’t help thinking I’m going to regret this new knowledge.”

  Benny wagged his head to the side and grunted. “Yeah, unless we can figure out how to beat them, we’ll all regret knowing them.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring,” said Amanda with a grin.

  7

  “Shannon?”

  She groaned and opened her eyes. Shannon ached all over, even the parts of her that the demon had missed. But as she came fully awake and remembered she could be discharged if she felt up to it, she put on a happy face and ignored the aches and pains.

  “Shannon?” asked Kristy from the foot of the bed. “Are you awake?”

  “Yes. And before you ask, I feel great and am ready to go home.”

  Kristy laughed. Nice try, Shannon.

  “I thought I’d imagined that,” murmured Shannon.

  “Nope.” Kristy put her laptop on the overbed table as she had in earlier visits and scanned through Shannon’s chart. “I have someone outside in the hall. It’s my husband, Sean Walker. He is one of the researchers—or whatever you call them—at SPECTRe. He’d like to meet you.”

  “To meet me?”

  “He wants to say hello.” Kristy glanced at the open door leading to the hall. “He says he needs to talk to all the directors. Something about the lamp.”

  “The lamp?” Shannon shook her head and frowned.

  “He can explain better than I can. Is it okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” Half of Shannon’s face was hidden by a bandage, but the wounds beneath were already knitting together—if the itch was any measure of progress. “My God, this itches.”

  Kristy flashed a small smile. I’ve done my best to accelerate your healing.

  “You‍—‍”

  Kristy turned and strode to the door. “Come in, Sean, but remember what I said.”

  “Yes, dear. ‘Don’t get over-excited, don’t wear your patient out.’”

  He strolled into the room, his gaze resting lightly on Shannon’s face. “Ms. Bertram?”

  Kristy moved to the door and swung it closed.

  “Hello, Sean,” said Shannon.

  He hit her with a dazzling smile. “Yes, hello. Before we start, I want you to know how much I admire you. You and the others.”

  Shannon hitched her shoulders and flip-flopped her unhurt hand on the bedspread, then grimaced at the pain that lanced through her upper back. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yes, nice to meet you. Did Kristy…” He turned and glanced at his wife, who nodded. “Okay. I’m part of your human search engine effort. Your husband put out a call for research about the lamp, and‍—‍”

  “Ho. Hold up. What lamp?”

  Sean again peeked in his wife’s direction. “The Tiffany lamp?”

  Shannon shrugged.

  “I…” He hesitated, looking down at his feet. “Well, there’s this Tiffany lamp we were asked to find out about, and I’ve found out a lot.” As he spoke, his voice grew stronger, less unsure. “I found this mark—a maker’s mark—that indicates the lamp is not a Tiffany at all, but rather a clever forgery. Or maybe it’s a copy, I don’t know. The craftsmanship is‍—‍”

  “Sean,” prompted Kristy.

  “Yes, uh-huh. Sorry. This maker’s mark turns out to be cuneiform—Akkadian cuneiform—and it translates to ‘Hail Lilitu, Bearer of Chaos.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

  Shannon shook her head, her gaze leaping from Sean to Kristy and back again. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “Well, the lamp appears to have been crafted in the late 1890s, but there are records of other, more primitive lamps bearing the same mark stretching back through recorded history. And what’s really strange is that all these lamps were constructed from the same three materials—bronze, lead, and glass. In the cases where the lamp’s design doesn’t require one of the materials, it’s used as decoration. I believe that the old version of the lamp is melted down, and the materials are reused to create the new one.”

  “Okay,” said Shannon.

  “What we really would need to know for sure is to perform a chemical analysis. For example, we can date the bronze by testing for the amount of zinc used in the alloy.”

  “Zinc.”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Modern bronze uses a lot, ancient bronze uses none, or very little. It’s interesting, really, that this‍—‍”

  “Sean,” said Kristy.

  “Right, okay. The phrase. Remember I said the maker’s mark is Akkadian cuneiform? I thought searching for the phrase online might yield fruit, so I did that. Searched online.”

  “Okay,” said Shannon.

  “Yes, right. The phrase ‘Hail Lilitu, Bearer of Chaos’ doesn’t occur with any frequency in modern texts. Well, it appears in some prayers purportedly used in witchcraft, but other than that, there’s not much.” He rocked on his heels, smiling. “But when you go back, I mean really dig into ancient writings, it shows up a lot. Especially in Akkadian, Sumerian, and Babylonian myths.”

  “I don’t know anything about this. If Benny asked you for this, he’s the one who needs to hear it.”

  “I… That is, I thought you could relay the information‍—‍”

  “No, that won’t do,” said Shannon, shaking her head. “I won’t remember all that, and the others will have many questions that I won’t be able to answer.”

  Sean glanced at Kristy. “Well, uh…”

  “You two can drive me home,” said Shannon. She beamed a smile at Sean. “I’m going home today.”

  “Oh, uh…” Again, he looked to his wife, who watched Shannon closely.

  “Yes,” said Kristy. “Okay.”

  “Good,” said Shannon. “Before we go, I want to see Greg.”

  “He’s in the ICU. They won’t allow you to visit.”

  “I can’t leave without seeing him for myself. Mike will expect nothing less, and I owe them both many times over.”

  “The hospital won’t‍—‍”

  “Yes, they will. After you’ve told them he’s my only living blood relative.”

  A little grin settled on Kristy’s lips. “Fine.” She shooed Sean out of the room. “This lady needs to get dressed. Go find a wheelchair.”

  8

  The storm continued to grow, continued to hurl lightning closer and closer to the pavilion, and continued to sandblast the unsheltered sides of the silk tent—which by some miracle named Lily, withstood the onslaught. Thunder a
nd the howling wind battled for dominance, as did arguments in Toby’s head for calling out to Lily and not calling her.

  He dithered, first turning his back on the raging storm, then facing it again, and always, always, arguing with himself. He had prepared himself to die years before when he first started stalking demons, but he hadn’t prepared himself to throw his life away uselessly, buried alive by desert sand. But still, he couldn’t force himself to call on her, to beg Lily for help. It felt like a betrayal, a betrayal of his friends, a betrayal of all the work he’d done to rid the world of demons.

  He cast his mind back—more to distract himself than for any real desire for self-reflection. He remembered all the missed opportunities: the potential girlfriends, the chance at a real life, of a family—all sacrificed at the altar of ridding the world of Lily’s kind. He’d been alone since he turned eighteen, and Toby thought that was what he wanted, but then everything changed when he rekindled his friendship with Benny and Mike and built new ones with Shannon and Greg.

  With Scott.

  Toby squeezed his eyes shut—and not only to protect them from the blowing grit. Ah, Scott! His loss felt like a ragged hole torn through Toby’s guts. He’d only known the man for three years, and they’d spent much of that time ruffling each other’s feathers, but still, Toby felt his loss keenly.

  He opened his eyes and looked around the small tent. He’d already done it, again and again and again, but he scoured the interior for something to do.

  But there was nothing but a cold grill, a barrel of water, a copper water dipper, and a few silk cushions.

  Nothing.

  9

  “Pull over for a minute, please,” said Shannon. “Somewhere under cover, if you can.” She pressed her face against the window and peered skyward.

  “Under these trees?”

  “Better than nothing,” she said, “but if you can find an overpass or a fuel stop with a covered island, that would be better.”

  “Uh, okay. I’ll find something like that.” His eyes peeked at Shannon in the rearview mirror. “Are you going to be sick or something?”

  “What? Oh, no. I want to disguise the car in case anyone followed us from the hospital.”