CHAPTER 43
Susan
Susan moved through
the building quietly, thinking about reloads and their hazards.
Homemade ammunition had a long and noble history . . . and her
father was tight-assed enough that everything he made at his
reloading bench would probably work all right. It had always seemed
to her a lot more work, for not much in the way of savings, but
such things appealed to her father’s nature.
So she’d checked them
over an hour ago before leaving the house. Now she thought about
stealth: she was wearing comfortable, quiet tennis shoes with her
jeans and black sweatshirt.
She thought about her
surroundings: everything was operational. This was weird, since
Ember and her gang seemed the sort to kill anyone who might be
coming in here for maintenance. Maybe they had just moved to this
place; or maybe they let folks come in and out to help preserve
their secret. Who goes looking for the villain in a well-maintained
public facility?
You mean, public facilities like city hall and the police
department, under Hank Blacktooth?
Focus, Susan.
Her plan was simple,
based on the fact that she knew Ember Longtail to be a crummy hag
with no imagination and a shrinking circle of friends. She would
conduct her search, using her knowledge of Ember’s attack patterns
(dusk and dawn) to visit the place when she would be most certain
guards would be at their fewest.
She thought briefly
of the moon phase—new moon, she
reminded herself. It’s okay. You’ve thought
this through. She wondered if Gautierre would still have his
moon elm leaf, or if Ember would have taken it from him. It didn’t
matter to Susan’s plan, so she stopped thinking about
it.
She passed through
another corridor, and found herself in the pretreatment section of
the building. She was zeroing in on the part of the plant she was
reasonably certain Gautierre was being held against his
will.
If he was being held
against his will.
Oh, don’t start.
Except. Ember was his
mother. A nasty shrill icky hag-like mother, but still. Susan,
motherless too long, wondered if Gautierre could really stand
against her. What wouldn’t Susan do to have her mother back? Hide
in a sewage-treatment plant? Do a few bad things? Tell the Scales
family to screw off?
Fool someone into
thinking she loved them?
Maybe he wasn’t a
prisoner at all. Maybe he was a guest. Maybe he had been a plant
the entire time and faked his own death to escape back to his
mother. Maybe he wouldn’t be happy to see her. Maybe he’d hurt
her.
Not even if someone stuck a gun in his ear, she
decided. It was a momentary weakness, brought on by stress and
aggravation. Also by the sight of two of Ember’s people, curled up
inside the door right next to each other like kittens. Except for
the leathery scales, and the enormous teeth, and the wings.
Maybe not kittens.
Their heads rose at
the same time; she felt the force of their gazes. She was better at
reading dragon expressions than she’d been, say, eighteen months
ago. She was pretty sure they were surprised. Which was an
improvement over homicidally pissed.
“Hello. My name’s
Susan; I’m here for Gautierre.”
They looked at each
other, then back at her. The one on the left had dull,
copper-colored scales shading to a muddy brown on the wings—spoke
in a hushed baritone. “Uh—you’re not a beaststalker.
Right?”
She straightened her
back. “I’m a reporter.”
The coloring of the
two dragons seemed unusual . . . muddy, almost vague browns and
mustard yellows and faded coppers.
Sick. They looked
sick!
“Are you guys
okay?”
They harrumphed,
which momentarily made Susan feel stupid. Then resentful: what, she
was supposed to be a dragon doctor? They were heaps of scaled
lethargy.
“You’re not out
attacking anyone. I thought you guys were going to burn down the
forest.”
One of them shrugged.
Susan had a brainstorm.
“But you’re living on
the run,” she guessed. She stepped toward them, suddenly far less
afraid of them. “Not much to eat, at a sewage plant. Easy game is
disappearing. You’re burning the wildlife to a crisp. Ember has you
starving yourselves.”
“You might want to
keep your distance, dear,” said the one on the left with a raspy
female voice. But her gums were bleeding, and Susan knew she was
hitting the mark.
“If Ember has you
starving yourselves, then you have to be wondering if you’ve made
the right choice.”
“Actually,” said the
other dragon in a croaking male tone, “I was wondering how you’d
taste.”
“That’s disgusting,”
said the female. “Look at yourself, Gary. You’re on the verge of
cannibalism.”
“Ain’t a cannibal if
she ain’t a dragon.”
“That sounds too much
like the bitch that got us into this.”
“Yes, she
is a bitch,” Susan interjected, seizing
the momentum and taking another step forward. “A big, stumpy bitch
whose own fabulous son hates her. I’m here for him. Why do you
care? You could go to Winoka Hospital.”
“They’d kill us,”
said Gary.
“Not if you walked in
calmly.”
“They’ll recognize
us, even looking this sick. We’ve attacked that hospital ten
times.”
Susan shrugged. “So
take off the moon leaves.” They were visible, hanging off their
throats on necklaces of woven fabric.
The female dragon
snorted. “You think we’re stupid? They’ll kill us the moment they
figure out who we are. Even easier, if we’re not in dragon
form.”
“Look—do it, don’t do
it, I don’t care. I just want to know if you’re going to let me by
so I can help my boyfriend. Does Ember have you guarding him, or
are you simply resting someplace inconvenient?”
Gary snorted; more
smoke curled from his nostrils. He got up and started to walk away.
“I can sleep anywhere around here. Makes no fuckin’ difference to
me.”
“Me, neither,” said
the female, following him. “But, honey, if you mean to leave with
Ember’s boy . . .” She tactfully trailed off.
“I’ll have to kill
her,” Susan finished flatly. “No worries. I’ve got it
covered.”
“Have fun getting
roasted.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Their carelessness made a bit more sense if they expected her to
die anyway. Who wants to keep murdering while
you’re dying? she asked herself. The answer came quickly:
Ember Longtail, that’s
who.
She put her hand on
the door and braced herself.