Page 45 of All Saints Day (Lucifer and the Saints #2)
Quentin
A s the cold wash of uncomfortable truth settled, we considered our options.
With the Windmill occupying positions throughout the highest levels of government and law enforcement—we were likely to run into corruption if we even considered approaching any Feds or politicians. Likely, any of the “right” channels would be just as dangerous as any back alley deal.
While the criminal underworld might offer us avenues for stolen vehicles, false papers, places to stay, and illegal drugs, etcetera—when it comes to ponying up enough muscle or metal to go toe to toe with the Windmill?
Nobody on the wrong side of the law who would be worth having for help would be willing to take the risk.
To add insult to injury, it had been my old pal Yhtzak who had sold me and my packmates out to the Windmill. He had promised us safe passage and sanctuary, while he planned on collecting the bounty on us for the tidy sum of three million.
My first order of business as soon as we escaped from the Country Estate was to make a detour to old Yhtzak, and give him a belly full of lead to send a clear and definitive message to any of our other peers in the underworld: I'm harder to kill than I look, and I have a long unforgiving memory.
With no real options on either side of the law, and our recent revelation about the identity of the White Knight, we have one very important decision to make.
All of us stand back and allow Louise to take the helm.
Of anyone who might understand our plight, anyone who might have some of the resources we would need, there was really only one choice.
Should we gamble on the White Knight, Martin Penny—Louise's uncle?
Of course, there is the consideration that there had been truth in Lowry's words—that Martin might move to eliminate his niece if he thinks she is a security risk.
There is also the chance he'd turn her in to the Feds and report the foul play surrounding her supposed death and the Zeitnot virus—putting all of us in danger of pursuit, and Louise in danger of being whisked away to a clandestine lab to be experimented on and worse.
Then again, there is also the distinct possibility that we are still missing a crucial part of the picture—one that shows that Martin would be more willing to help Louise.
“I don't know if I can face him,” Louise finally admits as we sit watching the sun go down on the deck of the rickety old houseboat on Lake Powell.
“No one is saying you have to,” Sébastien soothes, holding Louise against him, running his fingers through her long scarlet hair.
“No one is saying I have to, but we're just about out of options.” Louise leans into Seb, her eyes fixed on the setting sun on the horizon.
“We can always try to reconnect with Doctor Perla in Florence, as we originally planned,” Dennis adds.
“And if we can't call in the favors to get across the pond? Well, then we get the doctor to come to us.” Caz does his best to console her.
There's a long time where nobody says anything.
We all just sit, connected to Louise in one way or another— Seb with his hands in her hair, Caz sitting beneath her chair on the deck, leaning against her knees.
Dennis stands behind her at the railing—one hand over her shoulder, and of course I myself perch on the opposite side as Sébastien, gently kneading the muscles of her left forearm.
We all watch the golden light of sunset dance over the rippling water—connected by the glow.
“I think I need to know for sure whether he did it,” Louise finally speaks, more to herself than anyone else.
None of us wants to ask her if she still plans on getting her revenge after wanting it for so long.
“What if he did do it?” Caz's voice is small, and as gentle as he can manage.
Louise's fiery lashes flutter downward, her eyes moving slowly beneath her closed lids.
“Even if he did do it—” She swallows unsteadily. “I'm not sure that I could…” She trails off, her eyes snapping back open, suddenly fixed far away.
“What happens if he doesn't want to cooperate?” Sébastien floats the idea uncomfortably into the still air.
“I-I'm not sure,” Louise sighs. “The only thing I know for certain is that I'm going to put the safety of myself and my pack first.”
Tears spring to her eyes, and she lifts her hands to touch Frank's healing bite at her mouth.
All of us wince as a ripple of pain flows through us via the bond.
“It's only a matter of time before they realize they can use him as bait to bring me in.
I'd like to play right into their hands; to bring them a fight that they will never expect.” Louise curls her hands into fists.
“But we can't save him as things stand now. We need help, and if I need to use the White Knight to save Frank and get all of us far away from the Windmill—then so be it. If need be, I can dispose of him—but only once my pack is safe.”
“That settles it then,” I hum thoughtfully, rocking up and out of my seat. “I'll make the arrangements. Caz and I will open lines of communication with Martin. The rest of you should go get some sleep. More likely than not, we will be moving on in the morning.”
My sleep is fitful.
Just as I sink into dreaming, I am haunted by the echoes of Frank along the bond.
Louise gets the worst of it, of course, the only one of us to share a bite with Francis Castle.
For me, the pain is muted—the visions as if seen through a pane of glass smeared with Vaseline. But I see him and feel him at the mercy of the desperate Compton—freshly mourning the loss of Susan.
“Frank, Frank, Frank,” Compton sighs as he circles the metal chair Frank is chained to.
“You are at a disadvantage, kid. Susan was the one who liked you. She was the one who had your back,” he spits as he paces around Frank.
“She was the one who told the higher-ups that we should keep you—like some sick puppy she could feed and dote on and turn into her own Mad Dog,” Compton snarls, continuing his onslaught.
“Me? I don't care what happens to you,” Compton sobs.
“I lost one of my best friends and oldest colleague today—and the Windmill lost one of its most critical pieces…
You, you're less than your old man; hired muscle with a bad brain who can barely keep his shit together.”
“Aw, Eddie,” Frank grins up at Compton, one eye swollen shut—blood seeping from his split lip. “I never knew you cared.”
Compton fires off a right hook to Frank's chin, taking a few good steps back before one of the other technicians in the room switches on the car battery hooked to the metal chains binding Frank to his chair.
Even though I haven't exchanged bonding bites with Frank, I can feel the white-hot, searing pain as the electricity courses through him down the bond via Louise.
“You got real sloppy, Frank,” Compton continues. “Showed your hand—now we know the girl is the key to the cure. You better believe that we're going to get her back, and that we're going to hold on to her for a long, long time.”
Frank rises to meet the limits of his chained bonds, a manic grin on his face.
“Awfully confident you'll be able to get your hands on her again, aren't you, pal? She has her fated mates and a clear path far the fuck away from here. You’re never gonna be able to keep up with that crew, you saggy old bastard,” Frank cackles.
“Only problem is, we still have one of her fated mates,” Compton snarls, stepping forward to grip Frank’s stubble-shaded chin—his thumb reaching up, pressing painfully against Frank’s still-healing bonding bite.
“So what?” Frank growls, struggling under Compton's grip. “Susan already killed Mike Duboze; this just makes her and I even. Louise and the Saints don't need me; they never have.”
Disgusted, Compton lets go of Frank's face and seems to take him in—battered and bruised—before a low chuckle escapes Compton.
“They might not need you, but we need Louise, and what the Windmill needs, they get. It doesn't matter how far your little Penny goes—how well she and her Saints think they're hidden—the Windmill will always be there. Eventually, we will find them,” Compton threatens.
“That's a lot of tough talk, Compton, but you and I both know that if I hadn't served Louise and the Saints to you on a silver platter that day at the marina, you would have been stuck with your dicks in your hand and nothing else to show for it. ”
Compton snarls, “Good thing you're a traitorous piece of shit then, Francis.”
I can feel Frank's grip on reality slipping, even through the haze of dreaming.
“Don't worry if we can't find them; there's an easy enough way to get Louise and her Saints to come out of hiding,” Compton scoffs.
There's a collective cold fear that grips all of us as the words continue to spill from Compton's lips.
“If we release the altered Zeitnot virus to the public without any cure or preventative on the horizon, Louise and the others will be forced to submit themselves to the Windmill to save humankind, or to watch as the virus ravages the population—irreparably changing the course of history—torrents of blood on their hands.”
I wake in breathless horror, my other mates already circling around Louise where she sits sobbing in bed.
In a few hours it will be dawn, and we will be on our way to rendezvous with Martin Penny in the Berkshires at a secluded backwoods camping area Martin suggested.
Only time will tell how the meeting will unfold. Until then, we must all be strong for Louise, for each other.