Vicious Grace

“Did he sound all right?” I asked.

“He did to me,” Aubrey said. “Better than yesterday, anyhow.”

“Right,” I said. “Besides that?”

“We are going to get through these files,” Ex said, making it sound like a death march.

“I’ve tracked down a couple of the walk-aways,” Kim said. “Huge privacy violation, but they’ve agreed to be interviewed, so a couple of us should do that. And I was trying to find someone else who had heard one of the people coming up post-op speaking in tongues. A recording’s too much to hope, but the hospital’s a pretty cosmopolitan place. Lots of multilingual staff. Someone might have recognized something.”

“Good thought,” I said.

“Declan Souder left his personal papers to the Illinois Institute of Technology,” Aubrey said. “I was going to go take a peek at them. See if there was anything useful.”

“More obscure books of German magic?” I said.

“For instance.”

“So two interviews, a research visit, and everything Eric left,” I said. “Doesn’t leave much time for shopping?”

“Doesn’t,” Ex said, failing to appreciate the joke.

“How about we split up, then,” I said. “Kim and I can take the walk-aways. Aubrey does the Souder recon. Ex and Chogyi plow through as much of the local stuff as possible. Plan?”

“I can drop Aubrey at the institute,” Kim said. “I know where it is, and one of the people who agreed to talk lives in Bronzeville.”

That shouldn’t have given me pause, so I hid it.

“Great,” I said. “Gimme the other guy’s address, and we’ll hit it.”

“Don’t forget to call David,” Chogyi Jake said, which was good since he’d already slipped my mind. I took my phone to the new room to keep the background chatter of the other four planning to a minimum. While the phone rang, I wrote my name in the dust on the window.

“Jayné!” he said. “Thank you. Thank you for calling. I slept last night. I really slept.”

“No dreams?”

“Nothing like before,” he said, “but I was thinking. Maybe I should go down there. To the hospital you were talking about. That’s where this is all coming from. If I go down close to it, knowing what I know now, maybe I can find out something more.”

“Bad idea right now,” I said. “We’re making some real progress, but you shouldn’t jump the gun until we have a better idea what we’re looking at. Just hang tight, and I swear I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve got something solid.”

“I want to be part of it,” he said, and the happy tone of voice seemed a little strained. “I mean, you’re not just breezing in here and then I never hear from you again, right? This was my Grandpa Del. Whatever’s going on, I’m part of it.”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I wanted to tell him to sit tight, stay quiet, and hope that whatever we needed wouldn’t require him to do more than let us draw a little blood with a nice sterile needle someplace as far away from Grace Memorial as possible. There was no point. When I’d stumbled into the secret world of riders and magic, that wouldn’t have worked for me. No reason to think it would work on David now.

“You’re absolutely part of it,” I said. “What we’re doing now is background work. The stuff you gave us was really useful. I think we’re on the edge of cracking it open, but for right now, just hang tight.”

“Okay. All right. But if there’s anything I can do—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” I said. “Promise.”

I dropped the call. Kim, beside me, spoke.

“Are you really going to get him involved?”

“He is involved,” I said. “I’m just going to try to keep him out of trouble.”

We broke up a little before noon. As I pulled the minivan up out of the parking structure, it occurred to me again that I still didn’t have an actual vacuum cleaner apart from the borrowed Shop-Vac or a good idea where to get one. Just another little loose end to bug me while I worked on the big stuff, I supposed.

I’d heard songs and stories all my life about the south side of Chicago, starting with “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” and ending up with Moby singing about having weapons in hand as he went for a ride. I was ready for a war zone, but it wasn’t bad at all. There were plenty of soccer-mom minivans parked on the street. Leticia Cook answered the door. At a guess, she was in her early fifties, graying hair pulled back from her face. She wore clean blue sweats that made me think of what my own mom would have worn on a quiet day.

“You’re the girl who wanted to talk about that hospital?” she said after I introduced myself.

“I am.”

She raised her eyebrows, looking me quickly up and down, then motioned me in. The town house was neatly kept. A couch with understated floral upholstery dominated the front room without being particularly large. The walls were filled with pictures of her and her family. Three children, two boys and a girl, getting older and then younger again, depending on where I looked. Leticia leaned up a narrow stairway and shouted.

“We’ve got company down here. Make yourself decent before you come down.”

A muffled “Yes dear” was answer enough. She waved me into the front room and onto the couch. She pointed to another picture on the living room wall. A tall black man with a sly expression beamed out at us.

“That’s my son, Jimmy. He’s a lawyer. Works out in San Francisco. Made partner last year.”

“Really?” I said. “He looks young for that.”

Leticia laughed, and at first I wasn’t sure if it was with me or at me.

“Keep that up and we’ll get along just fine. Now, what was it you wanted to know about that place?”

I started carefully, asking how she wound up at Grace Memorial, what her doctors had told her about the hospital, things like that. She’d been in after she’d fainted at the grocery store. When she came to, she was in Grace with eighteen kinds of monitors glued to her skin and a saline drip feeding into her arm. Heart attack, and from the test results, not her first one.

“Now they’ve got me sucking down Lipitor and aspirin every day. Walking.” She shrugged. “I should have been exercising my whole life, but who has time?”

“You left before they released you,” I said. “What can you tell me about that?”

The warmth in her eyes drained away as if it hadn’t been there.

“You probably don’t believe in God,” she said.

“I don’t,” I said. Maybe I should have lied, but this didn’t seem like the place for it. I had the feeling she would have known. “If it helps, though, I believe that I don’t know much.”

That got a half smile out of her.

“I believe in our Lord and Savior, Christ Jesus. And that’s the reason I left that place even though the cardiologists told me not to. I was in more danger staying.”

“Did you see something? Hear something?”

“Felt it,” she said. “I felt it moving in the air and the walls of that place.”

I leaned forward, the couch shifting under my weight.

“Have you sensed spirits before?” I asked.

“Is this a psychological evaluation?” she asked. “Because we can skip to the end, and I’ll tell you I don’t hear voices.”

“It’s not. I just want to understand what’s happening at Grace.”

“Nothing good,” she said.

I stayed for another half hour, but she’d become evasive. I supposed I should have been glad I got as much of her time as I did. Before I left, she went upstairs and came back with a small silver cross hanging from a delicate chain. As I stood on her doorstep, she pressed it into my hands.

“If you’re going back there, you should have this,” she said. “The devil is in that place.”

I looked at it. Two bits of metal set at right angles. The primary symbol of most of my life. From the time I was old enough to understand it I’d gone to sleep with a cross above my bed, saying my prayers at mealtime, asking God what His will was for me. Part of me resented the years when the cross had been more than two bits of metal at right angles. Part of me missed it. I handed it back to Leticia, shaking my head.

“If you’ve got it in your heart, you don’t need it,” I said. “If you don’t, it’s not going to help.”

Back at the apartment, Ex and Chogyi Jake had spread their maps and notes and documents across the floor, and were locked in a serious debate over the relationship of architecture to sigil work. I dropped my backpack on the cow-skin couch and lay back, letting their voices wash over me. I didn’t realize I was falling asleep until it was an hour later, and Kim and Aubrey came in with three plastic shopping bags filled with five kinds of Thai food.

After the dinner plates were cleared—my turn this time—and water set to boil for coffee and tea, we all retired to the living room. Aubrey and Chogyi Jake sat on straight-backed wooden chairs taken from the living room. Kim sat on the couch, looking through a small stack of files with a scowl, and Ex sat beside her. To my surprise, he had a beer in his hand. I sat cross-legged on the floor, the coffee table before me and the Post-it notes on the wall behind my left shoulder.

“Well,” I said. “I guess I call the meeting to order. I talked to one of the walk-aways, but I didn’t get much. How about you guys?”

Ex started.

“I think we can take as a given that we’re looking at a leyiathan. All the circumstantial evidence points there. It also seems safe to say Eric was searching for it and for the way to free it, but with strings attached. He wanted something in return.”

“What kinds of things could you get from it?” I said. “And specifically what could you get from it that you couldn’t get someplace else?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">