I realized I had no memory of driving to Mason’s building. Apparently the creature had been thinking about something else while I drove, relying on muscle memory and GPS to get us there intact. Now I drove frantically, intent on getting home as fast as I could. Before Rachel’s Master could tell her to leave the apartment, go somewhere, do something that would take her out of my reach.
I gripped the wheel and managed to avoid accidents and cops as I drove. Mason looked worried at the stop signs I ran and the yellow lights I gunned through, but he kept his mouth shut until I parked in the basement garage. “You pass your driving test on the first try?”
“Sorry. Rachel’s going to be mad enough at me as it is.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Come on.”
We took the elevator up. I hesitated in front of our door, thinking. I wondered if the Master could access her psychic abilities. Would she know automatically that I wasn’t being controlled any more?
“Act like we’re still possessed,” I told Mason. “She’s psychic.”
He blinked. “This day keeps getting weirder and stranger.”
“Yeah.” I patted my pocket for the stun gun. “Be ready to grab her.”
“You’re her boyfriend. You should grab her.”
“I’m going to Taser her. She’ll be more mad about that.” I took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do it.” I unlocked the door.
Rachel was sitting on the sofa as if she hadn’t moved since I’d left. She glanced over her shoulder, saw Mason, and asked in a flat tone, “Who’s this?”
“Clint Mason. He’s got the—” Oh, hell, what did they call themselves? “What I was sent for.”
Rachel stood up. Mason didn’t say anything, as if he didn’t trust his voice not to give us away.
Rachel was wearing the same T-shirt, ripped across the back, and we could see the Master’s antennae rising from behind her neck. She looked at the Tupperware in Mason’s hands. “That’s not a good way to transport them.”
“It’s all I had.” He walked across the living room and set the container down on the table in front of the sofa. “They’re okay. See?”
Rachel frowned. Something was wrong. I had to keep her distracted. “Show her they’re healthy.”
Mason leaned down to open the container. Rachel stared at me. Her lips started to open. Her fingers curled into a fist.
“Grab her!” I shouted.
Mason looked at me, then at Rachel, and finally reached out toward Rachel’s arm, but he wasn’t fast enough. Rachel turned and punched him in the stomach, then whirled around, crouching to attack.
Damn it. I pulled the stun gun and darted forward. Rachel dodged me and snapped a kick to my knee. I staggered backward, clutching the stun gun tight in my fingers.
Rachel charged forward, her fingers curled into fists and her eyes on the weapon. I couldn’t let her get it. I held it close to my body and held up an arm to protect my face as she leaped—
—But Mason scrambled and grabbed her ankle as she lunged at me, and she fell, grunting. She rolled onto her shoulder, pushing her body up, and then Mason wrapped his arms around her legs, hauling her back down with a heavy thud.
I jumped forward and planted a knee on her shoulder, trying to hold her down. She squirmed and struggled, silent, not swearing like she normally would, just gasping heavily as she tried to punch at me and kick her legs free.
I leaned down. The Master’s claws were digging into her back, its antennae shaking as she rocked back and forth. I jammed the stun gun down and pressed the stud, hoping this wouldn’t hurt Rachel. And that she wouldn’t hurt me once I got the thing off her.
The jolt of electricity shot through the Master. Its antennae jerked, and blood started seeping from Rachel’s skin as its stubby legs shook. I pushed the stud again, and Rachel screamed, no longer struggling, her body twitching as the electricity jangled her nerves.
I wrapped my hand around the Master and pulled at it. Its claws were deep, and after a moment I stopped yanking and tried to ease it out more gently so I didn’t leave anything in Rachel’s back or neck.
Rachel wasn’t fighting anymore. I tossed the stun gun to the side and used both hands to pry the Master off. Mason came up and helped me, and in a moment it was free.
Mason threw it on the floor next to Rachel. He looked at me. “Your girlfriend works out.”
“Yeah.” I rolled her onto her side. “Get some, uh, paper towels. From the kitchen.” I pointed. Blood was dripping down her back, and she’d be mad if it stained our rug.
Mason came back with a roll, and I wiped her skin as she slowly stopped trembling. I helped her sit up on the floor, leaning back against the sofa, and waited for her to come back to us.
After 30 seconds she blinked, looked up at Mason, then turned back to me. ”Jerk.”
I grinned. “She’s all right.”
Rachel reached a hand out. “Water.”
I got some bottles from the kitchen. She took a long gulp, coughed, then drank more than half of what was left. Setting the bottle down, she looked over at Mason, who was also sitting on the floor. “Hi. I’m Rachel.”
“Clint Mason.” He tapped his bottle on hers. “Pleased to meet you.”
Then she looked at me. “What the hell, Tom?”
“I don’t know.” Now that Rachel was free of the Master’s grip, I realized I had no idea what was going on. “These things—Pelz, the wellness check this morning? He stuck one on me. Then he gave me one to stick on you. Then he called and sent me over to Clint’s place to get more for you to stick on your friends—”
“Yeah, I remember all that. What are they?”
I shook my head. “No idea. Aliens? Demons? Government experiments? They didn’t . . .” I tried to think. “I didn’t get anything from mine about what it was, or what it wanted. Except more victims.”
“Yeah.” She finished her water and tossed the bottle onto the table, next to the Tupperware. “Is that—?”
“More of them. I wanted some to show people or—”
“Whatever. Later.” Rachel stood up, with a little help from me. She looked down at her T-shirt, felt around the back, then sighed and just pulled it off. “I need to clean up.”
Mason turned his head so he wasn’t staring at my girlfriend standing in front of him in her bra. For once I was glad she was wearing a bra.
She threw the shirt at me. “Stop staring. Somebody owes me a new shirt.” She headed for our bedroom.
Mason, embarrassed, nudged the dead Master with the tip of his shoe. “Should I do something with that?”
“I’ll get a plastic bag. You want a beer?”
He nodded. “You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”
Fifteen minutes later Rachel was in a blouse and fresh jeans, her hair damp from the shower, and we were sitting on the sofa, eating sandwiches while staring at the container of Masters.
“So what do we do now?” Rachel sipped a beer. “Who do we call? The police? Homeland Security? The X-Files?”
“What do you remember?” I asked. “When it possessed you?”
She looked at the floor. “It was like watching a movie. A pretty boring movie. It’s not like I heard a voice telling me to take over the world or anything. I just did stuff without thinking. Or I just sat there.”
“Same here.” Mason had some whiskey. I keep a bottle for emergencies, and this seemed to count.
“We don’t know how many of them there are. If they’re just here in Chicago or everywhere. Or who’s possessed. Did you—” I turned to Rachel. “When I came in, could you read me? Sense that I wasn’t being controlled anymore?”
She looked into my eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t—it didn’t understand right away. But I knew something was off.”
“That’s good. If we meet any more, you might be able to warn us.”
“Is anyone going to believe us?” Mason rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure I believe us. This is crazy.”
“They’ll believe those.” Rachel pointed at the container.
“We need to get them dissected,” Mason said. “Get them to a lab, some scientists—”
“Wait.” I held up a hand. “Let’s slow down a second. Think about what we know about them. The more we can tell whoever we tell, the faster they can figure out what to do.”
Rachel sighed, then nodded. “All right. Let me think . . .”
“Does anyone remember them, you know, talking to you?” I closed my eyes. Then I opened them again. “Anything?”
“No.” Mason was firm. “I just—did stuff. Without thinking about it.”
“What kind of stuff?” Rachel asked.
“Mostly I sat, like you said..” He rubbed his forehead. “I sort of fell asleep with my eyes open. I got some phone calls, like from the guy who told me you were coming over—”
“Was that Pelz? Kent Pelz?”
He frowned. “It was Paolo. The maintenance guy who stuck that thing on me.”
“What happened to it?” Rachel looked suspicious. “Did someone Taser you too?”
“It just got sick and died. Like I told him. I don’t know what it was.” He leaned back, thinking. “I got a few more calls, but I don’t remember their names. It was a woman who brought the Masters to my place, her name was, uh, Scotty. Blond. Cute. We didn’t talk much.”
“What else did we do?” I looked at the table in front of the sofa, and saw the empty plastic bread bag. “Rachel, we ate a loaf of bread, right?”
“Yeah. Just bread. Like it never heard of sandwiches. It just knew we had to eat something.”
“And drink water. But not a lot.” I remembered feeling thirsty. “Like it doesn’t really know what we need to survive.”
“Yeah, I just ate whatever was in the fridge, or the cupboards.” Mason grimaced. “A jar of spaghetti sauce, you know? A can of green beans. I didn’t cook anything, just ate whatever was there straight out of the box. Cereal—I finished off all my cereal.” He drank some more whiskey. “I need the bathroom.”
I leaned over and hugged Rachel, holding her close and tight. She shivered, clutching me back. She’s not very emotional most of the time, so I could tell her experience with the Master had shaken her pretty hard.
“You okay?” I asked.
“The Taser hurt.” She shifted her shoulders. “But that thing was worse.”
“Yeah.” It was weird. There was no pain, no feeling of being trapped, no desire to rage or scream silently—but being controlled by the Master was somehow the most terrifying few hours I’d ever lived through in my life. And terror is my business too much of the time.
We held each other for a few minutes until Mason returned. He’d stopped in the kitchen for a carton of ice cream and three spoons. “Anyone else? It’s chocolate.”
Suddenly hungry again, Rachel and I joined him in polishing off the carton, and then I went to fetch some vanilla. We ate until brain freeze threatened, and then I took it back to the kitchen.
“I wish we could figure out why your Master died.” Rachel crossed her arms. “Did you eat anything funny? Do you have any weird pets? Strange medical conditions? Extremely strong farts?”
Mason shook his head. “I got diabetes. I smoke some weed. No pets, no girlfriend lately to tell me about my farts. I don’t know, man.”
This wasn’t getting us anywhere. We were wasting time—not that I had any idea how much time anyone had to stop the Masters. I took a deep breath. “I want to do something stupid.”
“That figures.” Rachel glared at me.
I braced myself for a punch. “I want you to put one of those—things—on me.”
Mason’s eyes went wide. Rachel punched my arm. “Are you crazy?”
“Maybe.” I hated the thought of giving up control again, but I kept talking. “If we had a better idea of what they are, what they want, it would be easier to fight them. If they’ve got, like a secret base somewhere—”
“What? We’ll go in ourselves with flamethrowers?” Rachel rolled her eyes. “We need help. You’re just used to doing everything yourself because no one ever believes you about vampires and witches and giant carnivorous plants.”
“Vampires?” Mason edged away from Rachel. “Plants?” I could see he was wondering whether he’d be safer getting away from us. I didn’t blame him.
“Yeah, vampires and killer plants and—other stuff,” I said with a sigh. “I seem to attract all the weird creatures in Chicago wherever I go. It’s a thing.”
“So is being stupid.” Rachel crossed her arms, ready for a fight. Mason looked uncomfortable, like a dinner party guest watching the hosts getting ready to sling insults and food at each other.
“Look, the more information we have about these things, the better. We don’t know who we can trust.” I took a breath. “Plus—okay, I’m curious. I want to know what’s going on before I bring this to someone else who’ll just take it away from us.”
Mason looked unconvinced, but Rachel just shook her head. “All right. Fine.”
“Good. Clint, there are some gloves in the kitchen. You can—”
“Wait.” Rachel held out a hand. “Okay, we’ll do it, but with me. I’ll be the guinea pig.”
“You?” I was terrified of letting the creature into my head again, but the thought of doing it to Rachel made my heart lurch like a highrise in an earthquake. “No way.” I put a hand on her arm. “I am not letting you—”
“Oh, shut up.” She yanked her arm away. “You’re the detective. You’re good at asking questions. Better than me. And I don’t want to see you—like that.” She shuddered. “Again.”
“You’re a cop?” Mason’s eyes darted between us.
“Private detective. Mostly cheating spouses and employee background checks.”
“And vampires and killer plants,” he said. “Oh, Jesus.”
“He used to be a reporter, too,” Rachel said. “He’s good at asking obnoxious questions.”
We looked at each other, all three of us. Finally I nodded. “All right, I guess. I’ll get the gloves—”
“You should tie me up.” Rachel grinned. “Not in the fun way.”
Mason’s eyebrows rose.
“Yeah.” I felt red in the face. “Okay, I’ll get some stuff. Clint, the gloves are in the kitchen.”
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