I visited Miranda again today—she and Evan have finished moving into their new apartment, which they actually like quite a lot. It’s small, and a bit shabby, but there’s enough space for the two of them. I think it is a relief to them to be out of the house and to have a fresh start together. Also, Miranda has received no more phone calls in the past few days.
But this was only a temporary reprieve. This evening while I was on patrol, I felt a spike of fear from Miranda so strong that it drew me to her side at once. She was standing at the window in her new living room, which looks out on the parking lot, and her hand was wrapped so tightly in the string to the blinds that one of her fingers was turning purple. I set my hand over hers to loosen her grip, even as I looked out to see what she was staring at, the source of her fear.
In the light of the streetlight which had just come on, a man was standing with his face up towards the apartment. He held Miranda’s gaze for a moment, then smiled and waved before getting into his car.
Miranda snapped the blinds shut and sank into a chair, breathing quickly. She knew that they would find her, but she had hoped to have longer before she heard from them. She stayed where she was until she heard a car start out in the parking lot, and she listened to it drive away before she could take a deep breath.
I made a difficult decision then. I wanted to stay with her and comfort her, but one thing that Orison has said keeps ringing in my mind: know your enemy. My presence might help Miranda for a night, but in the long run it would make little difference to her. And after all, I am a Guardian now, meant to protect, not console.
So I left her then to follow the man who had frightened her and learn more about him.
His car was impersonal, an impeccably clean four-door with nothing inside but the driver. He, too, was impersonal, wearing an inexpensive suit with an unimpressive haircut. Even his aura was dull and inexpressive—he didn’t think of anything except what was playing on the radio and the job he had been sent to do.
I went with him on a short drive to a street where houses had been converted to small shops and offices. The one at which he stopped had a small parking lot beside it, with only two other cars in it, almost identical to the one he was driving. He got out, locked the door, and went into the house through the back door. Another man with an empty aura and a cheap suit stopped him briefly, but then waved him through.
In the house, the only one who looked different from the others was a man who sat at a fine desk in one of the office rooms. He was a big man, balding, with fat hands and a wide, red mouth. His suit was not at all inexpensive, and his aura was cheerful, pleasant, with a core of thick black.
“No, no, I’m telling you, I need the gold one,” he was telling someone on the phone. He laughed. “Teenagers, right? Maddie says she won’t speak to me for a year if she doesn’t get it. Which honestly I might not mind, but then my wife will have a few things to say.” He sighed and rolled his eyes and laughed again. “Women, am I right?”
I hated him instantly and furiously.
As the man who’d been outside Miranda’s apartment came in, he stopped and waited without saying anything, and the big man ignored him completely. “So listen, if you could get that for me by Tuesday, that would be great. Yeah, and hey, get some good rest tonight. Sorry to be bothering you on a Sunday.” He listened to something on the other end and grinned. “Right, right! Well, thanks again.”
He hung up the phone, and his smile vanished. He looked up with eyes like a snake, cold and dead. “What news?”
“I’ve located the widow. They’re at a complex on the south side of town.”
“Huh. Not a bad neighborhood. She might have some money that she’s hiding.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his considerable belly. “Talk to the realtor about the house yet?”
“Yes. He says that the price Mrs. Spiller is asking—which would, incidentally, cover her husband’s entire debt—is unlikely to appeal to any buyers.”
The large man snorted. “She should’ve known better than to think it would be so easy.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to put a bit more pressure on her. Maybe look into the kid, he might be a good access point.”
At this, my rage boiled over, and I sprang across the room to stand before the desk, my wings spread. “You will not harm them,” I snarled, and I pressed fear and dread deep into his soul.
But the emotions sprang away from the man as if he were made of rubber. He only shivered a bit and patted his stomach, thinking about the large meal he’d indulged in not long before. I stared, shocked and unnerved by his immunity to my influence.
Orison has told me that wicked people are often difficult, if not impossible, for us to influence. I thought I understood, having remembered how easily Shannon could keep me out. But of course, she was only stubborn and proud, not cruel and careless the way this man is. I could not sway him, not if I struck at him a hundred times.
Shaking his head, the large man waved the other away. “Keep me posted.”
“Of course. Good night, Mr. Hill.”
The nameless man left, and so did I, not long after. I did not want to spend a second longer with that man than I had to.
I comfort myself that I did manage to learn a few things. I learned the name of my enemy, and where to find him. And I know what will not be effective against him. But what he holds over Miranda, and what I can do to stop him from hurting her, I have not the first idea.
What have I gotten myself into?