Steal the Lightning: A Field Ops Novel (Field Ops #3)(60)

I saw Angel do a double take on that.

A car, pulling from a side road, caught him in its headlights and he flickered, wavering, his brief hold on reality suddenly lost. For a second he was gone. Then back, and closer—barely three yards off. His mouth opened and closed without a sound. I felt that if I tried hard, I could read the words.

He put his arms in the air, flexed like a circus strongman, and then scampered past us, vanishing into the crowd.

I took the reader from my pocket, switched on.

I showed her.

“Sky high.”

“What’s happening, Chris?”

“I’m trying to work that out.” I glanced around. “You hungry? We should eat . . .”

“You think it’s safe?”

And he was there again. The same route, sneakers flashing, curls bobbing, and he faded as he passed the bright lights, sprang up into color and solidity against the shadows. He yelled, silently, raising his arms— We watched him go, then waited, five, ten minutes. But he didn’t reappear.



“There’s a god here.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t act like you’re testing me, Chris. Training’s done.”

She’d ordered salad. She wasn’t eating it, just pushing it around her plate.

She said, “There’s a god. I think we both know where.”

“Second Eden, hotel and leisure.”

“And what’s the great Registry database pronounce on that?”

“Yeah, well.” I’d checked this one. “Technically, Vegas is ‘a place of interest.’ Lots of ambient emotion, lots of buzz. No listed deities.”

“Surprising.”

“I thought so, too. But, no shrines, no history. Though I’ll admit—a god of gamblers sounds like a strong premise. Don’t you think?”

“Sounds like a country song to me. It’s McAvoy, right?”

“McAvoy, Appleseed, whatever he calls himself. The guy’s a fucking amateur. Same as the Ballington place. Here’s your god. No, I don’t know how to hold it, don’t know how to keep it quiet, stop it leaking out all over everywhere. Here’s the result.”

“Kind of professional pride, then, huh?”

“It’s a job . . .”

“Someone on your territory. In your corner, messing with your stuff.”

“A bit,” I said.

“Doing it badly. That’s what really gets you. If he was any good—I think you’d kind of like him. At least, it wouldn’t bother you so much.”

“He’s killed people. One of them right in front of me. And screwed up a lot of others. Look,” I said. “There’s something that we need to talk about.”

She pushed her meal away.

I said, “You feel OK, don’t you? Right now?”

Her face didn’t change.

I said, “I’ve got to ask. There’s a god near, and that can mess your head up. Specially—”

“—when you’re weak and vulnerable. Right?”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Yeah. I know. And yeah, yeah, I’m a bit on edge right now. Shows, huh? But I’m OK. I can handle it.”

“Last night—”

“I’m over it, all right? It’s been going on a while, but I’m over it. I took a bit of time on the plane, thinking it out. While you were snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Actually, you do.”

“Look. In my experience, these things stop, eventually. But not—”

“I got too close, it knocked a few things loose. I know what’s going on. I’m all right.” She straightened up, tilted her head, flexed her shoulders. “See?”

“‘Knocked a few things loose’ is not exactly textbook good health.”

“Jeez.”

She wouldn’t look at me.

“I have to say this, right? Don’t get mad or anything. But, if you start to feel it, you hear things or, if it starts to get to you, you’ll tell me? Don’t brave it out. It’s important for the job, OK?”

“You’re sweet.”

“Am I?”

“‘It’s important for the job.’ You English can be so fucking romantic.”

“What I meant—”

“I’m being sarcastic, Chris.”

“Yeah, I . . . realize that.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“I’m OK,” she said at last. “I’m totally OK.”

She kept her voice soft, measured, and she met my eyes.

“Now tell me what you think is going on,” she said.





Chapter 50

Side Effects




“I think it’s runoff. Surplus energy.”

I was still watching the street. It was automatic, like a nervous wildebeest eyeing up the long grass, never trusting the appearance of normality.

“The kid—the kid’s the easiest to talk about. We saw him—he went through twice, same path each time. Intervals are probably irregular. None of this stroke-of-midnight bollocks. Still—same thing, over and over.”