Rocked by Love (Gargoyles, #4)(78)
Kylie couldn’t help noticing the incongruity of the day. It had turned out to be one of those rare moments of early-spring perfection that occasionally settled over New England like a blessing from above. The clear blue sky seemed vast overhead, with the warm sun shining down and tempting humanity out of houses and businesses, urging the shedding of thick winter layers. A fresh breeze teased through hair and picked at light fabrics with just enough nip to remind everyone to enjoy the interlude while it lasted. The day was just too beautiful to believe that so much death and destruction lurked just around the corner, but she supposed that was what made evil evil—it didn’t care what it had to destroy, it just wanted the destruction.
The group entered the convention center and blended with the crowd of other attendees. Polite chitchat created a little blanket of sound as bodies milled in the hall outside the auditorium, plenty of coffee cups in evidence, waiting for the big event.
Kylie had to bite back a laugh that owed more than a little bit to hysteria. The “big event.” Ha. If only they knew.
A hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed. Looking up, she caught Dag’s reassuring gaze and tried to relax. It didn’t go very well, but she made the effort. Maybe if she’d gotten that cape, she’d feel differently.
She almost expected to hear tense, slowly building music in the background, like a movie sound track. Every one of her senses had gone on high alert, making her simultaneously jumpy and strangely numb, as though nothing around her were quite real; it all seemed too overamped, as if it were actually playing out on a movie screen.
Maybe she needed to take a break from her film addiction, Kylie told herself, trying to keep her actions casual as she glanced around her. At least for a while, until she could stop comparing her life to a Marvel Studios production. It might be the healthy thing to do. Put down the remote; step away from the Netflix.
“Everyone, remember the plan,” Kees said, as ushers opened the auditorium doors and attendees began to flow into the room. “We must wait until they make their move. If in doubt, look to Wynn or Ella. They will be monitoring for a buildup of energy that could signal the moment.”
Kylie nodded and tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. This one read ALSO, I CAN KILL YOU WITH MY BRAIN, partly in homage to one of her favorite television shows and partly to remind her that she could do things she had never before thought possible. As Wynn had told her, she just needed to concentrate and try not to get in her own way.
With Dag’s hand at her back guiding her through the aisles, she made her way to the spot everyone had decided on last night. The four couples would split up, with each one choosing their seats in one of the four corners of the room.
They had theorized that the most likely scenario for the Order’s plan was to open the four anticipated portals at the edges of the room around the four corners. This would effectively surround the audience, blocking them from the exits, and trapping them inside the room. Dividing up along similar lines would allow the Guardians and Wardens to launch the quickest possible response, and hopefully put them physically close to their targets.
You know, maybe.
It drove Kylie’s analytical, scientific soul bonkers that with all of their research, all of their preparation and strategizing, they still found themselves walking into the lion’s den with nothing more than a “best guess.” She felt pretty confident that best guesses were one of the main ingredients in lion chow, and she really didn’t want to have to explain to her grandmother why neither she nor Dag had managed to show up at Shavuot dinner.
Of course, if they didn’t show up, no explanation would be necessary, because bubbeh would be sitting shiva over her mangled corpse. As excuses went, it was about the only one Esther would accept.
Kylie settled into a seat at the end of a long outer aisle in the rear right corner of the room. Then she had to slide over a seat as Dag insisted on putting himself directly on the aisle. With the threat expected to come from the outer perimeter of the room, he had already told her he would expect her to let him stand between her and danger. She had initially rolled her eyes, but when he pointed out that she was so much smaller than him that she couldn’t effectively shield him anyway, she had to concede to his logic. She’d need three of her to block him from attack.
At least their assigned seats kept her from having to crane her neck to look around her. She had a decent view of the whole room, although the balcony had given all of them cause for grief. They couldn’t be certain that the nocturnis would not choose to open the portals up there rather than on the auditorium floor, but they were not able to effectively cover both levels so they had to work with the highest probability. Opening portals on the balcony would be more discreet, but it would also delay the moment when the demonic attack could begin, and it might give some of the crowd time to escape in the initial moments of violence.
Gee, wasn’t this a fun topic to muse on?
Turning her attention to the stage, she took in the elaborate curtained backdrop, the projected images of the Carver foundation’s logo, and the silent slide show of all the good work the group was doing. In a good number of the photos, Richard Foye-Carver posed with shirtsleeves rolled up and battered boots on his feet, helping African farmers in their fields, listening to the concerns of poor women, even playing with dusty urchins and their underinflated soccer ball. It was enough to warm the coldest heart.
Provided you didn’t look closely enough to see the dead, flat, empty void behind the man’s smiling eyes.