A Discovery of Secrets and Fate (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 2)

When we get out of the Hummer, I ask, “Are you going to walk the streets with that on your back?”

It’s not like you could exactly tell it was a sword as the sheath was leather and extremely broad, but it was pretty obvious it was a weapon.

Maddox is the one who answers. “These encampments can be incredibly dangerous. These are people’s homes, first and foremost, but the homeless are a fringe society plagued by drug addiction and mental illness, so they will violently protect their area.”

“Great,” I mutter as we start walking down a dark street lined with dilapidated buildings surrounded by fencing topped with barbed wire, feeling incredibly vulnerable. Carrick wouldn’t let me bring my whip tonight because he told me I wouldn’t need it with them fully able to protect me against anything.

“How do you even know where Echo lives?” I ask as we traverse along.

Maddox grins at me, and I only know this in the gloom by the flash of his teeth. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, Red. Otherwise, Carrick wouldn’t ask me for favors, and I couldn’t collect one in return at some point in the future.”

“You’re just like your brother,” I retort as I watch Carrick walking in front of me. “Neither of you do anything unless you get something in return.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” Maddox replies with a chuckle.

“That’s exactly what your brother said to me once,” I grouse.

We turn right on the next block, and the road only runs for about fifty yards before it dead ends. Beyond that is a large, cleared out area of hard-packed dirt with dozens and dozens of tents or makeshift lean-tos around the perimeter and others in rows in between. There’s a lone light pole on the far end illuminating the area, as well as a handful of barrels with fires going in them. The tents are old, holes patched with duct tape and garbage bags. The lean-tos are nothing but some old four by fours with tarps attached, also patched up from wear and tear. Nothing but a sea of blue, green, and sometimes bright orange as far as the eye can see. The place is huge.

People mill about, some sitting in old lawn chairs in front of their homes. Several folks stand around the barrels, drinking out of brown bags or smoking joints. It smells awful—a combination of urine, pot, and vomit.

The minute we step foot into their area, all heads turn our way. Carrick, Titus, and Maddox don’t miss a step strolling in and walking right up to the first lit barrel. I follow along closely, noting one of the men reaching over to the side of a tent and nabbing a baseball bat.

“Looking for Echo,” Maddox says to the men. “She around?”

“Don’t know no Echo,” one guy mutters, refusing to make eye contact with Maddox. The other men just glare at the intruders.

“Now see,” Maddox returns in a friendly voice, but there’s clear warning hidden underneath. “I don’t believe that because Echo told me that she lived here.”

A few people start walking our way—men and women—some holding weapons like garden hoes, metal pipes, and one lady holds a tennis racket with broken strings. I’m not nervous, though, because I know Carrick, Maddox, and Titus could slaughter this entire group without blinking an eye.

Just as I know they’d never do that, it’s no surprise when Maddox reaches into the side pocket that sits at thigh level and pulls out a wallet. He opens it, pulls out a single bill, and holds it up. “Got a hundred large right here to the first person that points her tent out to me.”

“That orange-and-silver tent over there,” blurts out the lady with the tennis racket. There’s plenty of grumbling going around by people who couldn’t beat her to the punch. She walks up to Maddox, snatching the hundred-dollar bill from his hand, and the crowd disperses, clearly unconcerned for Echo. I find that terribly sad given they clearly are looking to protect their turf on one hand, but easily give her up for money on the other.

I suspect it has to do with the fact that the people who live here are wise enough to know that Carrick, Titus, and Maddox would tear through each tent and lean-to until they found her.

We make our way over to the orange-and-silver tent, the men careful to circle around me as we walk. As we approach, I’m slightly charmed by the fact there’s a small banner with a multicolored peace sign taped to the side of the tent.

Maddox moves to the front flap, which is zipped and with no door to knock on merely calls through, “Echo… get your ass out here.”

Immediately, we hear shuffling around inside, and the flap unzips. Echo pops her head out, looks warily at Maddox, and, with a huff of annoyance, she crawls out. She looks and feels much the same as when I met her just over a month ago.