waving one hand like a conductor.
Ryan and Jessica sat at a candle-lit table in the Albany restaurant. Twenty floors up, it had a panoramic view over the city.
They were halfway through their meals, the vibes loose and mellow between them. Jessica looked across the table after taking a mouthful of Salmon in dill sauce.
‘So is this a date?’
‘Yeah, suppose so...’ Ryan looked pleased with the idea. ‘Two supposed hemeralopia victims wearing identical dark glasses. Puts a whole new meaning to 'Blind Date'.’
Jessica chuckled, looked round at the restaurant. ‘Do you think any of them really think we're blind or halfway there?’
‘Nah. Maybe jazz musicians.’
‘Too young. I mean, are there actually any jazz musicians still alive?’
Ryan beamed ‘Okay, rock stars then... or Mafioso.’
‘Or fashion icons.’
‘All sounds A-list cool. Until you catch 'em struggling to read a menu in a candle-lit restaurant like this, and realize they're just stooopid.’
They broke into chuckles almost at the same time. They were enjoying the banter, and each other's company. Ryan shook his head.
‘Had trouble even with some pizza instructions the other day. Had my glasses off to read when my mom walked in. Ended up making some bullshit excuse about fluorescent lighting being weaker than sunlight.’
‘Know what you mean. I don't know if I'm cut out for this double-life either. Lying to my mum. Her lying to me.’
Ryan chewed a mouthful of food, thoughtful. ‘Ellis manage to sort something out for you on that front?’
Yeah. Got some pills and eye-drops which apparently fake the symptoms.’ She tapped her handbag. ‘Along with my inhaler and my mom's enzymes, I'm a regular walking Schwartz's drug store.’
She smiled tightly, but Ryan could sense it was mainly bravado. Beneath she looked as nervous as hell. He reached a hand out, touched her hand reassuringly.
‘You'll be okay.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ They fell silent for a second. ‘One thing they'd never guess, though. What the dark glasses are really for... and what's really going on out there.’
Her gaze shifted from the people around them to the window at their side, and Ryan joined her in looking out across the city panorama.
‘No. I guess they never would.’
Not a single twinkling city light within eight miles, the darkness at Frank Lyle's farm was inky black, impenetrable.
Ideal cover for the hole Lyle was busily digging with a pickaxe and shovel. To one side of the hole was a four-foot high cherry tree fresh from the garden centre, its ball-root still netted.
He grunted with the exertion, sweat heavy on his skin. But there was good reason for that: the hole was far bigger than need be for the cherry tree, and he’d spent most of the past hour digging it.
Satisfied that it was the right size and depth, he went back to his farmhouse, left the pickaxe and shovel in one of the outhouses and headed for a shower.
Head upturned to the spray, he closed his eyes as it swilled the sweat and grime off his body.
And for a brief moment his body morphed to the monster he was, the water running down the slimy reptilian scales of his skin.
NINETEEN
The operations van weaved downtown through traffic with Ellis, Ryan, Josh Eskovitz, a driver and another agent.
They weren’t on the track of any demons, but it was clear from Ellis Kendell’s body language that the situation was urgent. He turned to Ryan as they sped along.
‘Got a possible containment situation come up – but it can only be done now. And we'll need your help with it.’
Minutes later they pulled up in front of a courthouse and Ellis led the way up the steps and through its bustling corridors.
There was a heavy press presence, and as they pushed through and into the public gallery of one of the courtrooms, Ryan caught his first sight of who was standing in the dock: Tracy Fulton.
Ashen faced, drawn, Ryan hadn’t seen her since that day at the Mocha Bocha.
A judge was
Ryan and Jessica sat at a candle-lit table in the Albany restaurant. Twenty floors up, it had a panoramic view over the city.
They were halfway through their meals, the vibes loose and mellow between them. Jessica looked across the table after taking a mouthful of Salmon in dill sauce.
‘So is this a date?’
‘Yeah, suppose so...’ Ryan looked pleased with the idea. ‘Two supposed hemeralopia victims wearing identical dark glasses. Puts a whole new meaning to 'Blind Date'.’
Jessica chuckled, looked round at the restaurant. ‘Do you think any of them really think we're blind or halfway there?’
‘Nah. Maybe jazz musicians.’
‘Too young. I mean, are there actually any jazz musicians still alive?’
Ryan beamed ‘Okay, rock stars then... or Mafioso.’
‘Or fashion icons.’
‘All sounds A-list cool. Until you catch 'em struggling to read a menu in a candle-lit restaurant like this, and realize they're just stooopid.’
They broke into chuckles almost at the same time. They were enjoying the banter, and each other's company. Ryan shook his head.
‘Had trouble even with some pizza instructions the other day. Had my glasses off to read when my mom walked in. Ended up making some bullshit excuse about fluorescent lighting being weaker than sunlight.’
‘Know what you mean. I don't know if I'm cut out for this double-life either. Lying to my mum. Her lying to me.’
Ryan chewed a mouthful of food, thoughtful. ‘Ellis manage to sort something out for you on that front?’
Yeah. Got some pills and eye-drops which apparently fake the symptoms.’ She tapped her handbag. ‘Along with my inhaler and my mom's enzymes, I'm a regular walking Schwartz's drug store.’
She smiled tightly, but Ryan could sense it was mainly bravado. Beneath she looked as nervous as hell. He reached a hand out, touched her hand reassuringly.
‘You'll be okay.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ They fell silent for a second. ‘One thing they'd never guess, though. What the dark glasses are really for... and what's really going on out there.’
Her gaze shifted from the people around them to the window at their side, and Ryan joined her in looking out across the city panorama.
‘No. I guess they never would.’
Not a single twinkling city light within eight miles, the darkness at Frank Lyle's farm was inky black, impenetrable.
Ideal cover for the hole Lyle was busily digging with a pickaxe and shovel. To one side of the hole was a four-foot high cherry tree fresh from the garden centre, its ball-root still netted.
He grunted with the exertion, sweat heavy on his skin. But there was good reason for that: the hole was far bigger than need be for the cherry tree, and he’d spent most of the past hour digging it.
Satisfied that it was the right size and depth, he went back to his farmhouse, left the pickaxe and shovel in one of the outhouses and headed for a shower.
Head upturned to the spray, he closed his eyes as it swilled the sweat and grime off his body.
And for a brief moment his body morphed to the monster he was, the water running down the slimy reptilian scales of his skin.
NINETEEN
The operations van weaved downtown through traffic with Ellis, Ryan, Josh Eskovitz, a driver and another agent.
They weren’t on the track of any demons, but it was clear from Ellis Kendell’s body language that the situation was urgent. He turned to Ryan as they sped along.
‘Got a possible containment situation come up – but it can only be done now. And we'll need your help with it.’
Minutes later they pulled up in front of a courthouse and Ellis led the way up the steps and through its bustling corridors.
There was a heavy press presence, and as they pushed through and into the public gallery of one of the courtrooms, Ryan caught his first sight of who was standing in the dock: Tracy Fulton.
Ashen faced, drawn, Ryan hadn’t seen her since that day at the Mocha Bocha.
A judge was
Similar Books
