They’d switched off. Georgeanne was in the van, watching the street. She got a call from Mika: “Attack! Attack!” A handgun roared.
“I got up here as fast as I could.” We were in Nerina’s apartment—me, Rachel, Georgeanne, and Russo. “She was gone. And . . .”
Mika lay on the floor. Blood drenched her body and the hard wood.
“We should cover her up.” Rachel glanced toward the bedroom.
“No.” I was avoiding looking at her. “The cops will—”
“We’re not going to the police, you idiot.” Russo’s voice was raspy. “What would you tell them? Would they believe any of it?”
Some of them would. But Russo was right. The police weren’t going to solve this.
I looked at Georgeanne. “Are you all right?”
Her jaw was clenched like a wolf’s. “I should have been here.”
“You were following procedure.” Russo whipped out his phone.
“Calling Barsch?” I wanted to tell him about Nerina’s mother, but this didn’t seem like the right time.
He shook his head, tapping buttons. “The necklace I gave Nerina is a tracking device. I’ve an app.”
Rachel came out of the bedroom holding a sheet. “I knew you were lying. I’m psychic.” She covered Mika.
“Really? That’s interesting. Okay, it looks like . . .” He peered at the screen. “They’re on their way out of the city.”
“He’s got a house in South Bend. Give me a second.” I’d put some notes on my phone.
“Good.” He hit another key. “Conrad? Get a team together. Yeah, I’ll give you the details in a minute.” He hung up and looked at Georgeanne. “Let’s go.”
“Hang on—what are we going to do?” I managed to text the South Bend address to Russo’s phone. “Go in there, guns blazing, and hope Nerina doesn’t get hit by a stray bullet?”
“The Raen will use her as a weapon.” He tapped more buttons.
“And what do you want?” Rachel glared. “She’s a kid. She’s just trying to live her life.”
“You’ve seen what she can do. Georgeanne?”
She checked her handgun, then slid it back into its holster. “Okay.”
“Wait.” Rachel walked up and hugged her. “Are you okay?”
Georgeanne stiffened. Then she patted Rachel’s shoulder. “I should have been here.”
“I’m glad you’re still here.” She kissed Georgeanne on the cheek. “See you.”
We filled my Honda with gas, snacks, and water. Then we hit the Dan Ryan Expressway.
“So who’s kissing who now?” I checked my GPS.
“What? She’s cute. I can see why you like her.”
A truck honked at me while I was considering the possibilities. But right now probably wasn’t the time for that kind of discussion. I pulled into the next lane.
South Bend was less than two hours away. The mid-afternoon traffic wasn’t heavy, so we made good time. We saw signs for Notre Dame University and the Studebaker National Museum, but Barsch’s house was on the southwest side.
Russo’s black van pulled up behind the Honda. We were down the block from the house. The neighborhood had wide lawns and tall trees. One elderly man was mowing his grass.
My phone buzzed. “I’ve got Georgeanne and two others here.” Russo’s voice was tense. “I’ll knock on the front door, Georgeanne will take the side, and—”
“Wait.” I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “This is a residential neighborhood. See that guy mowing his lawn? You can’t go in there like a SWAT team. Someone’s going to call the police, and people will get hurt.”
“We’ve got to get Nerina out of there.”
“Let’s try talking before we start shooting.” I looked at Rachel. “All right?”
She nodded.
Russo groaned. “All right. I want Georgeanne to go with you.”
I shrugged. “As long as she’s not carrying an assault rifle.”
“Fine.” He hung up.
I opened my door. “You can stay here, you know.”
She laughed. “Riiight.” She got out. “I can’t let you go anywhere on your own these days.”
It was an argument I hadn’t ever won. Like most arguments with Rachel, actually.
Georgeanne met us with her denim jacket zipped up just high enough to hide her handgun. “What are you going to say?”
“The truth.” Mostly because of my reporting days. Also because I’m not a great liar.
She handed me a pen. The same one I’d used—yesterday? It could transmit everything within earshot. I tucked it into my windbreaker.
We stepped up onto the porch. I pushed the doorbell.
A short bald man in a Notre Dame sweatshirt pulled the door open. “Yes?”
“Tom Jurgen.” I held out my card. “This is Rachel, and Georgeanne. We want to see Nerina. And Elliot Barsch.”
He stared at the card through the screen door. “Elliot thought you might find us. I’m Polo.”
We went into a foyer with an oriental rug on the hardwood floor in front of a staircase. Polo closed the door, then reached behind his back as if he had an itch.
Georgeanne already had her handgun pointed at his chest. “Think very carefully about that.”
He smirked, then dropped his hands. “The basement. That’s where they are.”
My heart pounded. “There’s a whole squad of Rossini outside.” I spoke loudly, hoping Russo could hear me clearly. “I had to talk them out of mounting a full-out assault on this place. So like she says, take a deep breath before you try anything.”
Polo sighed. “And like I said—downstairs.”
Georgeanne kept her pistol out. Rachel held my hand. I didn’t think she was afraid. She probably figured I was. She was right.
We walked behind the up staircase to a door that opened onto a stairway leading down. “Elliot! It’s the Rossini! They’re armed!”
I stiffened.
“Smart move.” Georgeanne glanced at us. “Behind me.”
I nodded. “Way behind you.”
“You only want to check out her ass.” Rachel gave my arm a light slug.
Polo headed down. Georgeanne winked at us and followed. Then me, then Rachel.
It was a typical basement—mostly. A washer and dryer next to a laundry chute filled with shirts and underwear, a sink in the opposite corner. A clothesline strung up across the ceiling.
But Nerina sat in a metal folding chair, her bare feet duct-taped to the legs and her hands tied behind her back.
Barsch leaned against the washer, a long knife in his fist.
“Okay.” I stood next to Georgeanne, trying to breathe through a mouth as dry as coarse sandpaper. “So what’s going on?”
“He tied me up!” At least Nerina’s mouth hadn’t been closed my duct tape. “He says . . . he says . . .”
Georgeanne pointed her handgun at Barsch. “Did you rape her, you asshole?”
“No.” He kept the knife tight in his fingers. “This is a test.”
“What kind of—”
Then we heard a set of footsteps on the stairs. Oh hell. Russo and his team of assassins?
No. A young man in jeans and a long black jacket. Black hair, glasses. “Hi, Elliot. Sorry I’m late—” He blinked. “Wait, what?”
“It took you long enough.” Barsch glared.
“I had to get off work first.” The kid slipped his jacket off and let it drop the floor. “I can’t just say my grandmother died again or something. Who are you guys?”
Georgeanne stepped back. “Behind me,” she snapped, and Rachel and I hustled to get behind her back as she tried to cover all three men. “Elliot, drop the knife. Tom, cut Nerina loose. We’re getting out of here.
Elliot shook his head, but the knife clattered to the floor. “Dean, there’s the test.” He jerked his head at Nerina. “Get started.”
“Okay.” Dean shrugged.
I ducked down, ready to grab the knife. Rachel gripped my shoulder in a Vulcan death grip. “Wait. He’s—”
Suddenly Dean wasn’t human anymore. More of a cross between a Komodo dragon on hind legs and a Nazgul from the Lord of the Rings trilogy.
Dean roared, a thin forked tongue whipping across his jaws. Then he started stalking toward Nerina. She stared with big brown eyes, her shoulders shaking. “What the—”
Georgeanne fired her weapon at him. Three shots, no effect.
Then Polo went for the gun behind his back.
But Georgeanne hadn’t forgotten about him. “Don’t!” She pointed her pistol at his chest. “Drop it.”
Polo wisely froze. And his pistol clattered to the tile.
I grabbed at my jacket pocket. “Pineapple! Pineapple!” It was the safe word I’d been given yesterday. As much as I hated the idea, we needed backup—now.
Then another roar answered Dean. Nerina. She was the giant reptile again, free of the duct tape. And she was pissed. Or maybe scared. I couldn’t really tell about mutant reptiles. Whatever she felt, she kicked the chair over and attacked.
They slashed their claws at each other. Their hides were both thick, so I didn’t see any blood. Then Dean darted forward, his jaws wide, and caught Nerina’s arm in his long, jagged fangs.
But Nerina pulled her arm back, drawing Dean in, and jabbed her own fangs into his shoulder—and bit into the dragon’s face.
Dean howled, twisting and kicking. Nerina lifted her head and spit out a chunk of his skin, and then she rammed her thick chin at Dean’s long nostrils. Even dragons apparently don’t like a punch in the nose.
The creatures grappled, slashing and biting. Georgeanne tried shooting again, but her bullets might have been made of fog.
Dean was on top of Nerina, howling in anger and pain. Nerina dug her teeth into Dean’s shoulder. Dean slammed a fist down into her chest. Nerina screeched and slammed a knee up between Dean’s legs.
Rachel told me once that even demons from other dimensions don’t let getting their balls kicked. How she knew, I’d never asked. But that seemed to hold true for shape-shifting dragons. Dean shrieked and rolled, and Nerina jabbed her claws at his throat.
“Ahh!” Dean’s shout sounded almost human. He thrust his arms up at Nerina, clubbing at her face. But Nerina shot one of her claws down deep inside his neck. Black blood spurted up, spilling across the floor.
“Oh . . . oh . . . bitch . . .” The dragon dropped back. “Bitch.”
Barsch stood up, clapping his hands. “Yes!”
Then feet pounded down the stairs again. I turned, and Georgeanne lifted her weapon again. But this time it was Russo. With two other people—a man with dreadlocks and an earring in his left earlobe, and another woman with a shaved scalp. I thought I remembered her from Urbana. They both carried AR-15s. Like Mika had.
Russo held a heavy handgun like Georgeanne’s.
“Everybody down!” Russo shouted as if he’d led attacks like this before. “Get on the floor!”
Oh hell. I knelt, holding my hands high. “Hang on, Andy! Don’t shoot!”
Georgeanne lowered her weapon. “It’s okay, Andrew. I think it’s over.”
The two Rossini soldiers pointed their rifles at Barsch and Polo. Barsch was still staring at Nerina. “Yes. It worked.”
Nerina sat on the floor. Sobbing. Clutching at another torn shirt. “I’m sorry,. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .”
Dean’s dead body lay in front of her, his clothes slashed and torn, bleeding from a dozen places.
Nerina closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I looked at Rachel. “You okay?”
“I think so.” She rubbed my arm. “You?”
“Not sure yet.” I stepped forward. “Hey, Andy? We have to talk.”
“Not now.” He waved an arm. “Conrad, get Nerina into the van. Now.”
Conrad walked toward Nerina. She flinched and pulled away.
“Just hold on for a minute!” I wanted to run upstairs and break all speed limits getting back to Chicago. But I wanted to ask some more questions. It’s what I do. “You, Elliot! What did you mean about a test?”
Barsch looked between Russo and me. “To see where she belongs.”
“And you just—what? Offered Dean as a sacrifice?”
“He knows!” He pointed a finger at Russo. “We’re in a war! We’ll bring the world down, and start over again. And when it’s done, everything will begin again. We’ll need the strongest. Like her.” He smiled at Nerina. “You’ll have to choose. We’ll welcome you.”
Nerina tried to spit in his face. But her mouth was too dry. “Asshole.”
“Should I shoot him?” This came from the woman with the shaved head. Her finger twitched over the trigger guard of her rifle.
“No, Shelby.” Russo’s voice was firm. “Let’s just take Nerina out of here. Elliot?” He stepped forward. “You can’t do this. Play games with people. Turn them into weapons.”
“You like your own weapons.” He glanced at the knife on the floor. “Your big guns that go boom. We have our weapons.”
I looked at Nerina. Nineteen years old, but sobbing and trembling like a little girl. “She’s a person. Not a weapon. But while we’re on the subject of where she belongs—”
“Jurgen, let’s go!” Russo’s face was red. “They could have more Raen here any minute.”
Yeah, we should go. I didn’t trust Russo, but I was definitely scared of what the Raen could do. “Later. Like I said.”
“Come on, babe.” Conrad reached down for Nerina’s arm.
“No!” She yanked her arm and lurched up. She still had clothes, but her T-shirt was ripped again and her shoes were gone. “Not you. Tom. Tom and Rachel. Please?”
Rachel pushed past Conrad. “Excuse me, uh, babe.” She reached out for Nerina’s hand. “It’s okay. We’ve got you.”
Russo rolled his eyes. “All right. Let’s clear out.”
“What about them?” Shelby glared at Barsch and Polo. “They killed Mika.”
“Leave them to clean up the mess.” Russo pointed to the stairs. “Let’s go.”
Georgeanne rode with us in the Honda. In the front seat. Rachel sat in the back, talking softly until Nerina fell asleep.
“I’ve got to ask you something.” I changed lanes.
She sighed. “Is this about the kiss?”
Actually, no. Although I still didn’t understand it. “You carry these big weapons. But Russo told you not to kill Barsch or Polo. Don’t get me wrong . . .” I’d had to go into therapy and take medication after seeing too many people killed. “But you keep saying you’re in a war.”
She sighed. “Every war has rules. We’re . . . connected. Family. The Rossini and the Raen. So we don’t . . . it’s a shadow war. If we left bodies around, it would get worse pretty fast.” She clenched her jaw. “But they shouldn’t have killed Mika.”
I totally got that.
Russo and the others met us at our apartment. I made coffee.
The table was crowded. Rachel had to help Nerina take a shower to wash off the blood, and find her some fresh clothes. Russo was impatient. Conrad and Shelby checked their phones for messages. Georgeanne helped with the coffee, cream, and sugar.
“What is this, Jurgen?” Russo tapped his fingers on the table. “Barsch could be planning another attack. He’s got to know where you live—”
“He won’t.” I hoped not, anyway. “Nerina is . . . valuable. He was willing to risk her for the test with Dean, but right now I don’t think he wants to risk her life any more than you do.”
“Are you talking about me?” The bedroom door opened. Nerina wore one of Rachel’s long T-shirts and a pair of shorts. She staggered to the table. “I’m sick and tired of people trying to run my life! You, Elliot, everyone else! I just want . ..” She sank into a chair. “Do you have a Coke? Please?”
Rachel found a can of Coke in the refrigerator. Then she pulled a chair next to me.
Russo frowned. “We’re all waiting, Tom.”
“Here’s the thing.” I looked at my notes from the call with Kinsler. “Nerina? As far as I can tell, Elliot’s grandfather was . .. well, your grandfather too.” I took a deep breath. “There was a maid named Alice Pinkton, and he got her pregnant. Her daughter, Emma—well, I guess she married Martin Renn. And then . . .”
“Oh my god.” Russo leaned across the table. “You can’t just lay this out on her without any warning! Nerina needs—”
“Is this in your book? I just found it out this afternoon. I think what Nerina needs is the truth. After being lied to all her life.” I looked at her. “I’m sorry. If I should have kept my mouth shut—”
“No.” She shoved her chair back. “I mean—yuck! No, just . . .” She looked around the table. “W-who am I?”
Rachel put a hand on her arm. “You’re going to have to figure that out yourself, I guess. We’ll help. Right, Tom?”
What, were we adopting her? I shrugged. “Sure. Of course.”
“So now what?” Georgeanne poured some cream into her coffee. “Whatever happens, the Raen are out there. We need to keep Nerina safe.” She leaned forward. “Are you going to do that?”
I sighed. “You’re the people with the extremely high-powered weapons. I’m just a private eye with a hot girlfriend.”
Rachel kicked me under the table. But she grinned.
Then Russo surprised me. “Tom’s right.” He rubbed his eyes. “It’s been a long day. We can figure this out tomorrow. Nerina, do you us to take you home?”
“Yes—no!” Nerina shuddered. “I can’t—not after . . .” She looked at Rachel. “I’m sorry. Can I stay here one more night?”
“Then I should stay too.” Georgeanne looked around the apartment, checking the doors and windows.
This was almost as bad as the time I had six strippers sleeping in my old apartment. “There’s only the couch, and the bedroom, and one bathroom—”
She grinned. “I’ll deal.”
“That’s it, then.” Russo stood up. “I want Conrad and Shelby to stay outside in the van. I’ll get an Uber.”
Shelby stood up. “Can I use your bathroom first? It was a long drive.”
At the door, Russo surprised me again. He shook my hand. “Include all of this on your bill. Like I said, we have resources.”
That was good news. “Sure. But . . .” I glanced over my shoulder. Rachel brought Nerina a fresh Coke. “What’s going to happen with her?”
He sighed. “I’ll have to talk to Carole. We’ll find someone who can help Nerina control her powers. And get her a new apartment, I suppose. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Our people will make sure she’s safe tonight. You’re right—I don’t think Barsch is going to come after her again.”
I hoped he was right. “Okay. Get home safely.” He was a client, after all.
I ordered pizza. We watched “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” on the couch. Nerina laughed, then fell asleep during the second episode. Rachel covered her with blankets. “I guess you’ll have to sleep in the chair,” she told Georgeanne. “Sorry.”
Georgeanne stretched out on our armchair and kicked her shoes off. “This is fine. Better than Afghanistan. Let me tell you guys about that sometime.” She pulled out her handgun and set it in her lap. “Just in case. Safety’s on.”
“Y-yeah. I’ll be sure not to surprise you when I get the newspaper.” I’d tiptoe, holding my breath. “I’ll leave the bedroom door open, in case you need the bathroom.” And I planned to sleep in long johns and a sweatshirt, no matter how hot and sweaty I got.
Rachel was checking email on her phone in bed. “What are we going to with her?”
“I don’t know.” I pulled the covers up and kissed her. “Wait—do you mean Nerina or Georgeanne?”
She slugged my arm. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Jurgen. I mean, okay, she is kind of hot . . .”
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