Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(25)

“Yesterday they had a really good deal on those—what do you call ’em, those shoes with the individual toes?” I said as I locked the door behind me.

He almost bounced out of his chair. “What happened? Did you find someone to help us?”

“I think so, yeah. But nothing’s moving until morning and I’m bushed, so if it’s all the same to you I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep. You should try to do the same. I know it’s hard, but adrenaline can only carry you so far, and we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

I was just starting to enjoy myself, luxuriating under the hot shower spray and letting the water pulse against my aching muscles, when Alvarez pounded on the bathroom door. I killed the water and grabbed a towel.

“Someone’s here!” he whispered, on the edge of panic. “Listen!”

Then I heard it. The voice boomed up from the parking lot, rough as sandpaper.

“Faust! We know you’re in there!”

I cursed under my breath and grabbed my clothes. I killed the lights and got low, pulling back the curtains to take a peek outside.

Bulky sedans sat lengthwise across the entrances to the apartment parking lot, blocking the way in or out. Another car sat parallel to the building. One of the gunmen from the church stood on the roof of his car, all the better to be heard. Others stood scattered across the lot, eyes on my front door, ready for a siege.

“Send him out to us! We only want the priest. Send him down here, and you can walk away.”

“I thought nobody could find this place!” Alvarez cried.

I tried to rein in my thoughts as they raced down a broken track. This apartment was my sanctuary. I was more than careful about keeping it hidden. The entire lot was magically warded, sealed against scrying and occult espionage. We should have been impossible to find by any means.

I pulled on my shirt and buttoned it. Alvarez fought with his flip phone, shaking his head. “No bars. Why don’t I get any bars here?”

I took a look at mine. No reception. Somehow they’d jammed our cell phones, and I was pretty sure none of the other tenants would be able to call for help either. Nice trick. I’d have to figure out how they did it, once we got out of this mess.

I eased over to the door and opened it a crack, keeping the latch-chain in place.

“I don’t have him,” I shouted. “I dropped him off at the police station.”

There wasn’t even the slightest pause before the gunman on the car hood shouted back, “We know he’s in there. Send him down or you die tonight, Faust! We’re willing to forgive your crimes, but only if you cooperate.”

“Crimes?” the priest said. I shrugged. I didn’t know what they meant either. I decided against asking them to be more specific.

“He’s under my protection,” I called back, tugging my pants on. “So if you want him, you’re gonna have to get your hands dirty. You sure you want that? You know who I am.”

“You have one minute,” he shouted. I shut the door and relocked it.

“I’ll go,” Alvarez said.

“What? No, you won’t.”

He shook his head. “Yes, I will. There’s at least six of them. If we fight, you’ll die, and other innocent people in this building might get hurt as well. If I surrender, you’ll all live. I’m a priest, Mr. Faust. My duty is very clear.”

“I say we wait them out. Look, jammed phones or not, the cops do patrol this neighborhood. Sooner or later a squad car’s going to come by, see the blockade out there, and check it out. All we have to do is sit tight until then. That way nobody gets hurt, including you. All right?”

Alvarez sagged, nodding weakly. “All right. We’ll wait.”

That was when our minute ran out, and they lobbed a Molotov cocktail through my window.





Thirteen

I jumped backward. Broken glass sprayed across the carpet, and the heavy, dusty drapes billowed into orange flame. There was an extinguisher behind glass, outside on the second-floor landing, but there was no way I’d get there and back without the Choir’s guns cutting me down. Glasses of water from the sink wouldn’t be fast enough to stop the spreading fire.

My home was burning. The only question was how to save ourselves from burning with it.

I swallowed my anger and ran to my closet, dialing in the code for the combination lock.

“What are you doing?” Alvarez followed me, flailing his arms. “We have to go. We have to go now!”

Behind the door, stacked high on three shelves, were the tools of my trade. Grimoires, journals, lithographs on obscure branches of occult philosophy. All useless now, and they’d just weigh me down. The box on the top shelf, my jumbled odds and ends, that was what I needed.

Most of my magic was long-form. It could take hours to put together even a basic ritual, though the end result was usually worth it. Every now and then, though, I would prepare something for a rainy day and stash it away, tools for an emergency that might not ever happen. Call it my own version of doomsday prepping.

This situation counted as doomsday, in my book. Besides, everything I didn’t take was kindling for the fire. Use it or lose it.

“Father,” I said, “things are about to get really weird around here. I’m going to need you to trust me, okay?”