Living With the Dead (Otherworld 9)

He continued to harangue the boy, but Hope couldn't hear him, her attention riveted to that pocket, as the chaos swirled about, as rich and smooth as the best chocolate.

The boy stared at the book, as if praying it would float back into the man's hand. Finally, hand still in his pocket, he bent, stiff-legged, scooping up the book as he mumbled apologies.

As he straightened, a figure stepped from behind a rack, his gaze down, fixed on the book in his hand. It was the gym teacher who'd been talking to the clerk. He noticed the crowd and looked up. He saw the old man still grumbling, and he started to veer out of his way. But then he saw who the old man was chewing out. And he stopped dead.

The chaos vibes surged. Confusion and disbelief and something sharper and stronger, too muddled for Hope to make out. Then the vibes smoothed away as the man's eyes lit up. He said something. A single word. It was too far for Hope to make it out, but the boy wheeled.

The man said it again and moved forward, absently setting his book on a shelf as he passed. The boy stumbled back. He hit the remaindered book table. His free hand windmilled, his other hand flew from his pocket, pulling the gun with it, the weapon sailing into the air and hitting the floor, the clatter swallowed by a clerk's scream.

Everyone stopped. All eyes went to the gun, and that scream echoed through the store like the wail of a siren.

Then, as people realized what was happening, the chaos tsunami hit. Hope reeled under it. Her eyes rolled back, the chaos bliss blinding her. She caught only still shots. The boy, staring at the gun. The man, staring at the boy. The customers, scrambling back in slow motion. A security guard, inching forward, hand going to his holster.

Another wave, so strong Hope's knees buckled. Robyn grasped her arm. Hope pushed her off and grabbed the chocolate display rack. Focus! Damn it, focus! She blinked, jaw clenched.

When Hope could see again, her gaze swung to the security guard. He wasn't much older than the boy, and no less terrified.

Hope tried to move, to do something, anything, but the demon fought to keep her still, smelling disaster and warning her not to interfere, not to get involved, it wasn't safe, just sit back and drink it in, prepare for the chaos feast to come.

Hope grasped the display tighter and pushed off, propelling herself forward. Robyn caught her arm again, whispering for her to let it play out. But Robyn couldn't hear the thoughts pinging through the air; she couldn't feel the fear and confusion. To her, letting it play out meant letting the guard take the boy down quietly and call the police. Only that wasn't going to happen.

Hope pushed past her, but she could tell she wasn't going to make it in time. The guard was only a few steps from the boy. He had his gun raised now, ready. The boy saw that, then glanced at his own weapon on the floor.

"No, no, no," Hope whispered. "Just leave it there. Don't do anything stupid."

She knew the boy and the guard wouldn't listen even if they could hear her. All they could see was that gun on the floor, and all she could see was tragedy pulsing there between them.

The gym teacher broke from his trance, staggering back as if just now realizing he stood between the two young men. As he backed away, he looked over his shoulder, gaze fixing on a carousel of bookmarks. Then he redirected his "stagger" that way, grabbing the carousel as if for support. He wrenched and it toppled into the guard's path.

At the last second, the guard saw the falling carousel and veered out of the way. The boy cast one last glance at the gun, then ran for the doors.

The gym teacher fumbled with the bookmark carousel, as if trying to right it, but only making it worse, blocking the guard so he couldn't follow the boy. The guard finally extricated himself.

The old man waved toward the doors. "He went - "

"The gun," Hope said, pointing. "It's still there."

The guard looked from the gun to the doors. A manager crept over, slinking around the shelves as if trying to assess the situation without getting involved.

"You can't leave the gun there," Hope said. "There are kids in the store."

The manager stepped out then. "She's right. I'll call the police. He didn't steal anything, did he?"

"I don't think so, but - "

"Good. Let the police handle it then. Just get that thing out of here."

Hope backed away, waving for Robyn to head toward the doors before anyone stopped them for a statement. As they escaped, Hope looked for the gym teacher. He was gone.

* * *

FINN

Finn had passed the photo of Jasmine Wills all around the station before finding a detective visiting from another precinct who thought the man in the background resembled a guy he'd interviewed as a witness a few years back.

"But my guy died before the case came to trial," the detective said. "Arrogant son of a bitch. Wouldn't give me the time of day, so I was looking forward to putting him on the stand, just to screw up his week. Guy was some head honcho for the Nast Corporation. You heard of it? I hadn't. One of those companies that doesn't seem to produce anything except other companies. My guy's name was Chris, I think. Your guy looks like he could be his brother. I'd pay a visit to the company tomorrow, flash the photo around. From what I heard, the whole damned family works there."

Finn looked up the case. It was almost seven years old. A carjacking. The witness had seen the whole thing, but didn't bother to call the police. Unfortunately for him, a civic-minded passerby had been busy writing down the license numbers of all the not-so-conscientious people who drove off. Kristof Nast. Now deceased, as Finn verified.