The Myth Hunters (The Veil #1)

The Myth Hunters (The Veil #1) Page 36

“We must go as quickly as we can,” Kitsune said, both to Blue Jay and to Jenny. “There isn’t time for—”

“There is one thing we must do first,” Frost interrupted, the look in his eyes a challenge to anyone wishing to contradict him. “Oliver’s family does not know what has become of him. I’m going to take him through the Veil so that he can call them.”

Kitsune blinked in surprise. “Now?”

“Now?” Jenny echoed.

Blue Jay traced a finger along his own jaw and studied Oliver closely. The mischief went out of his eyes and his gaze was cold. “Yes, now. He may not have another chance. Of course. You must,” the shape-shifter said, and for the first time Oliver thought he could almost see the bird in the Borderkind’s face. The blue feathers tied in his hair seemed to dance and sway of their own accord.

“Yes,” Frost agreed. “While the Mazikeen confer. You’ll remain here and learn whatever more there is to learn of this conspiracy?”

“If you wish.”

“I would be grateful. We should not be gone long.”

Blue Jay and Jenny Greenteeth sat side by side on the table. Oliver wondered if anyone ever used the mahogany chairs in the courtyard. Kitsune glanced at him, brow furrowing.

“Be careful,” she said. “Much of the mystery was gone from your world forever when the Veil was created, but some still remains. And there are times when only a little mystery can be quite dangerous indeed.”

There was something in her eyes and in her face that made him want to stay, to remain with her and not be parted. But from the moment Frost had mentioned taking him back through to make contact he had been thinking of Julianna, and of Collette, and the longing to hear their voices and to soothe their fears was stronger.

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

Blue Jay wore a smile, but Jenny’s expression was dark with foreboding. “Go on, if you must. But hurry, yeah? This is all happening too fast.”

The winter man flowed up beside Oliver with a bone-chilling gust of wind. He nodded. “Come here.”

Oliver followed him to the fountain on the opposite side of the courtyard from where the Mazikeen conferred. Frost gestured to the water that sprayed into the air and it became snow. Winds buffeted Oliver as the snow became a small blizzard in that spot alone, even blotting out the false sunlight from above. And through the snow, he could see an opening.

“Go,” Frost told him. “I will be with you.”

Oliver stepped through.

It was midday in London, mothers pushing babies in prams through the park, when Oliver appeared from nowhere, stepping out of nothing and back into the world of his birth. He knew the city immediately by the red double-decker bus he saw rumbling by far across the green grass and over the tops of bushes and a wrought-iron gate that went round the park. A gust of frigid air was the only sign that Frost had accompanied him, and when he looked down he saw a sprinkle of icy rime upon the lawn, like frozen dew.

“Mum!” a little girl shouted. “Mum!”

Oliver turned to see her, a pretty little thing with a ribbon in her hair and her coat buttoned up tight. It was nearly Christmas . . . how many days away he was not certain . . . but there was no snow in London. It snowed rarely in the British capital, though that had not always been true. With an oversized mitten she pointed at Oliver.

“Mum! That man!”

The mother peered suspiciously at Oliver and then turned to her daughter, her voice lower but still audible. “What of him, Ellie?”

“He just . . . un-vanished! Wasn’t there a minute ago!”

Heart hammering in his chest, Oliver gave the mother and child a warm, indulgent smile. Isn’t she the cutest little thing, he hoped his smile would say. Her mother smiled back and rolled her eyes a bit before taking the girl by her mitten-clad hand and walking away.

Oliver let out a relieved breath and looked around, trying to orient himself. He’d spent a semester living in London during college and it had been one of the greatest experiences of his life. He’d taken a classical drama class and gone to see more plays in a handful of months than he’d seen in the cumulative years of his life to that point. He’d become passingly familiar with the city, but did not recognize this park at first glance. He could see a lake to his right and far off to the left a bandstand at the bull’s-eye center of the walkways that threaded the park. A sign beside the path had arrows pointing in several directions he might walk to find a Children’s Zoo and a Deer Enclosure, amongst other things. Another for Sub-Tropical Gardens. Distant memories flickered across his mind, and then he put it together. This was Battersea Park. He had never been here before, but had heard about the variety of attractions it offered.

Public land. So a part of the world beyond the Veil was made up of a mirrored version of Battersea Park. The Borderkind had a gift, that much was certain.

For a moment he just breathed in the damp, chilly air of London. It was warmer and the sky clearer than he would’ve expected as the year drew to a close in the United Kingdom, and he felt fortunate just to be able to feel the sunlight of his own world. It was the first time he had been on his own in many long days, however, and he felt exposed. Frost was somewhere nearby, he knew, perhaps riding the frigid winds that blew to England all the way from the Russian steppes. But still he felt vulnerable.

And the clock was ticking. He was frightened for his own life, but he was now equally concerned for the danger his friends faced. Several times during the quiet confrontation in the courtyard of the Mazikeen he had considered releasing Frost from his vow. The other Borderkind needed him, and they had to find out who it was that controlled the Hunters. But the truth was that he had saved Frost’s life, not once but twice, and Kitsune’s once as well. It wasn’t so much that he felt they owed him their loyalty, but that he had pledged his to them, even if they were not aware of it. Presuming he was able to find a way to get the order of death lifted from him, he knew that he would not abandon them to their fate.

“Okay, okay, clear your head,” he whispered to himself.

A slim, bald man with glasses and a cigarette dangling from his mouth gave him an odd stare as he passed, but did not stop. Oliver surveyed the park again, no longer focused on his location or the people who were enjoying the unseasonably pleasant December day. He was searching for only one thing. Not finding it, he began walking toward the fence in the distance and the road beyond. The path curved and he followed it out to a gate.

On the sidewalk just outside, he finally found a phone booth, one of the red-painted boxes that spoke of London tradition. He felt shaky and oddly warm in the rustic peacoat Oliver Larch had given him. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside, and a kind of happiness touched his heart. He was not out of danger, but at least he could make contact. He could hear the voices of the people he loved. Julianna must be furious with him, and he could not blame her. Even now he was not sure that missing the wedding was a bad thing. But all of those considerations had to wait. Regardless of how much shit she might give him, he had to at least let her know that he was all right.

Oliver plucked the phone from the cradle and dialed for an operator, then asked for international help. His awareness of the crisis beyond the Veil made him impatient as he went through three different people before an operator could help him make an overseas call and charge it to his credit card. It was probably shortly after noon, which would make it pretty early back home, maybe seven o’clock or so. But the call couldn’t wait, and he doubted anyone would want him to wait.

Yet at home, there was no answer.

The operator indulged him by trying the number a second time, but there was nothing. Not even the answering machine.

A ripple of unease went through him. He had no idea what day it was, but there ought to be someone there at this time of morning. Oliver wanted to think that Collette would have stayed in Maine after his disappearance, but he wasn’t sure how many days had passed at home and eventually she would’ve had to go back to New York, back to work. But even if she was gone and their father was out, there ought to be a machine. Or Friedle ought to have been there.

His anticipation turned to uncertainty, he gave the operator Julianna’s number, not at all sure how he would begin to explain. It took half a minute of odd noises on the line before he heard it start to ring on the other end.

On the third ring, she picked up.

“Hello?”

“Jules?”

He heard a tiny gasp and a muttered “Oh, my God.”

“Julianna, I’m . . . listen, I’m okay. I can’t even begin to imagine how much you must hate me right now, and it’s going to be a while before I can get back home, but I wanted you to know that if there’d been any way . . . I mean, I would never have left that way if I’d had a choice.”

“Oliver,” she said, as if she was only just beginning to believe it was him.

“Yes. Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me.”

He could hear her crying. “Where are you, Oliver? Where the fuck are you?” The curse sounded almost like a growl.

“I’m . . . look, I’m in London. I can’t explain it to you right now. I’ll be in touch again soon. I just wanted to let you know, and let Collette and my father know, that I’m alive and in one piece and—”

“Your father? You don’t know about your father?”

The question, uttered in stark disbelief, put a chill in him far worse than the winter man’s touch. “What do you mean?”

“He’s dead, Oliver. While you were hiding out, or going walk-about, or whatever the hell it is you’re doing, trying to sort out your life, someone murdered your father . . . mutilated him! God damn you for not being here! Though if you ask the police, they’re not sure you weren’t.”

Oliver had never felt so numb, or so cold, or so hollow. In his mind he was one of those chocolate Easter bunnies with only air inside, the kind that crumble almost at the lightest touch.

“He’s . . . oh, Jesus, don’t say that. Don’t say that.”

Her voice turned softer then, revealing the anguish beneath her fury. “He is, Oliver. Oh, baby, I’m sorry, but he is. I’ve been so afraid. I thought you were . . . at first I thought you’d left me, but when they found your dad like that, I was afraid you were dead, too. Are you really okay? You’re in London? You’ve got to come home, Oliver. You have to come home now.”

He shook so badly he could almost not get the words out, and when he did they were a quavering rasp. “I can’t, Jules. Honey, I can’t right now. But soon, I promise.”

“Are you in danger?”

Oliver flinched. She sensed it, obviously. Or had figured it out. Why else wouldn’t he come home?

He ignored the question.

“You said . . . he was mutilated. What . . . how was he . . . what happened?”

The silence that followed was far too long. Oliver began to feel as though he would throw up just thinking on his father’s murder and imagining the worst.

“His eyes. His eyes were . . . taken.” Julianna seemed to swallow that word. “The police have nothing, Oliver. Not a lead. There wasn’t a fingerprint. No sign of an intruder except for what he’d done and—”

“Collette,” Oliver said. “I tried calling the house. I need to talk to her, Jules. I only have a minute and I need to call her right now. Where is she? Do you know?”

He could hear that she was crying, and he wished he could have been there to wipe her tears away. Whatever they might one day be to each other, or not, he wished he could at least do that.

“She’s not with you?” Julianna asked, incredulously, as though it was the hardest question she had ever put into words. “Collette’s gone, too. Vanished, just like you did. On the night your father was killed. No one’s seen her since. She’s just . . . gone.”

Oliver’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He shook his head, fingers clutching the phone so tightly that it hurt him. His mind could not process this final piece of information. And as he tried, he heard muffled screams coming from the park.

He turned to see the winter man, manifested in the morning sunlight on a busy street corner in Battersea, London, rapping icy fingers on the glass.

“Oliver. We have to go. Right now!”

The fury with which his mind rejected this demand overwhelmed him. His grief was too much. He prepared to scream, to shove the door open and rail at the creature who had drawn him into this peril, who had pulled him away and left his father to die at the hands of some savage while his sister was spirited off, perhaps to her own slaughter.

Then he looked past Frost and saw Kitsune staggering through the wrought-iron gate, her face spattered with blood, cradling her left arm, which dripped crimson tears onto the concrete path. Beyond her, Blue Jay came at a run, a miniature black dragon cradled in his arms, unmoving.

“I love you, Julianna,” he whispered into the phone, barely aware that he was speaking. “And I will come home. I promise.”

He hung up on her questions and her tears.

CHAPTER 16

Collette came awake reluctantly, even her unconscious mind filled with a dread of what she would encounter upon waking. Exhaustion had eaten its way into her very bones, yet much as she might wish to retreat for endless, blind hours into the sanctuary of sleep, her rest was fitful at best. Even in her dreams, she was starving. Even in her dreams, her body was scoured by sand.

Now her eyelids fluttered and her brows knitted together in an attempt to stave off wakefulness for just a few more minutes. In that half-dozing state she could imagine herself still in her bed, still in her father’s house, still in the world she had known. But the grit of sand was everywhere on her, a thousand tiny itchings beneath the soft flannel of her pajamas. She wore nothing else, not even underpants, and she was barefoot. The sand was warm enough, but its intrusion into every crevice of her body and its clinging, scraping scatter inside her pajamas was torment.