Boundary Crossed (Boundary Magic #1)(80)
They both nodded, sobered.
I helped myself to a simple fast-draw holster that had already been conveniently attached to a belt. The belt was so long that it ended up hanging low on my hips like I was an Old West gunslinger, but as long as it didn’t pull my pants down, I couldn’t care less. I was getting into that state of mind I remembered from the army: quiet, alert, and still . . . until I needed to snap into movement.
Quinn took only a bunch of shredders and a handgun I didn’t recognize. Simon looked grimly at the weapons cache for a long moment, but then just grabbed some shredders, tucking them into the breast pocket of his army-style jacket. I wondered if I’d freaked him out by bringing up the idea that a ricochet could accidentally hit Charlie, but I shrugged off the concern. If he was really worried about controlling his shots, he shouldn’t have a gun.
All three of us took penlights from the top stash of supplies, and then Quinn closed the trunk. We left the Toyota and headed for the farm as quietly as possible. Simon had suggested that we curve around the driveway and approach from the east, so that we would come up on the back of the farmhouse. Quinn, who had vampire reflexes and night sight, took the lead, and Simon and I followed as closely as possible, walking blind through the countryside.
Quinn moved silently through the undergrowth, and I wasn’t much louder, having spent a good deal of time sneaking around with guns. Simon, however, was a disaster in the stealth department: his shoes kept catching on weeds, and the stakes clanked around in his jacket. He tried clutching one hand to his chest to keep them still, but that threw off his balance just enough to make him stumble more. I fought not to snap at him, reminding myself that he wasn’t a soldier or a vampire. His work with the clan probably didn’t require too much experience with covert operations. After a quarter mile or so I switched places with him so he could follow Quinn more closely, and that helped a little.
Finally Quinn slowed to a stop, and ahead of us I could see a small farmhouse with a couple of lights on, including one outdoor security light above the back screen door. Back in the car, we’d decided on a strategy. The house would likely have two entrances, a front door and a back one, and some windows on the second story that a vampire could get in and out of easily. As we drew closer to the house, I made eye contact with the men, touched my watch, and nodded. In my head, I began to silently count as we split off: Simon to the back door, me around to the front. Quinn would wait until we were in position and then take a running leap onto the lower part of the roof, so he could duck in through a second-story window. It was a risk—if Charlie happened to be close to wherever he landed, there was a possibility that he’d fall back down, maybe find himself with a broken leg or two. But Quinn had assured us that if that did happen, he’d heal fast enough to be back in the fight within a few minutes.
I slipped around the side of the house, noting the gravel driveway just beyond it. I could only make out the edge of the driveway in the spill of light from the house, but there was another light on above the barn, a plain, unpainted wooden structure. Simon had been right—the main door, a massive piece of wood that had to be slid back and forth, stood open, a yawning, sinister black hole in the structure. Unlike the Pellars’ cheerful red barn, this one was slightly dilapidated, like years of heavy snowfall had caved in parts of the roof and no one had cared enough to fix it. I kept an eye on the barn, just in case Kirby was hiding out there after all.
I made it to the door of the house just as my count hit fifty, and pulled the M9 out of the fast-draw holster. I counted off another ten seconds, and at the one-minute mark, I reared back and kicked in the cheap front door.
Chapter 37
The door flew inward with a tremendous crash, echoed by another crash deeper inside, as Simon burst through the back door. Quinn would be on the second story, but his entrance was silent—he must have found an unlocked window.
With the M9 in hand, I moved through a short, shabby entryway and to the right, into a living room where a single standing lamp emitted a wan yellow glow.
The room was small and looked like a museum diorama of the seventies, furnished with just an old dusty sofa sleeper and an even older armchair made out of material that looked like burlap. The only modern touch was an enormous flat-screen TV hanging on the wall, which said a lot about Atwood’s priorities. I passed through the room and entered an empty kitchen, with fixtures of a similar age and quality as the living room furniture. Then I found myself in a small dining room. I saw movement in the opposite doorway and tensed my finger on the Beretta’s trigger.
Simon moved through the doorway, a stake in his left hand, the fingers of his right hand stretched out in front of him. The gesture reminded me of the day in his hayloft when he’d used the shielding spell on me, and I realized he was preparing some kind of offensive spell. I lowered the Beretta and nodded at him. “Stairs back this way,” he said in a whisper so low it was almost silent. He jerked his head back the way he’d come, and I nodded and followed him.
Quinn was waiting for us at the bottom of the steps.
“The house is empty,” he said in an undertone.
My chest tightened with disappointment. “What about a basement?” I asked.
Quinn gestured behind me, and I turned my head and saw a door. “I checked there, too,” he said. “I didn’t see any other buildings when we arrived, so if they’re here, they’ve gotta be in that barn.”