The next time he looked up, I was right behind him.
Chapter Forty-Three
He froze, eyes darting from the bat to my face then back again.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
He nodded, swallowed hard, and stared at the bat.
“I’m going to need you to put down your tools. And don’t try to do anything stupid, like throwing something at me or running. You left your gun in the locker. I know you aren’t strong. And you know I am strong, so don’t fuck with me, okay?”
He dropped the tools on the concrete and lifted his hands like I was an old-timey bank robber here to steal his cash. He looked pathetic.
“What’s your name?”
“Jeff.”
He didn’t even have a name worth remembering. Jeff. Who the fuck would care about a guy named Jeff? After today, no one.
I kicked the tools away, even though none of them were really suitable as weapons. I was holding the bat with both hands, not easing up for an instant, ready to hit him in the head with it if he so much as flinched.
“Where’s the bomb you’re going to put under the stage?”
This got his full attention. “H-how do you kn-know about that?”
“I know everything,” I snarled. “I know you’re going to blow this car up in the valet line at five, and when that doesn’t do what you wanted, you’re going to turn the front lobby into a crater.”
Jeff didn’t seem able to comprehend what I was saying. “H-how?”
“That’s what you’re going to tell me. Where is it?” I touched the bat to his temple when he didn’t immediately reply. “Just know, Jeff, that no threats I make here today are idle ones, okay?”
His frame visibly sagged, and he sat on the front bumper. “It’s built into the stage. I went in after construction was finished and wired the whole base of the stage with C4.”
My gods. It was a wonder the lobby hadn’t been totally obliterated.
“And this?” I pointed to the car. “Is this ready?”
He shook his head and looked down at the tools spread across the floor. “I was so close.”
I stopped myself from breathing a sigh of relief, because the truth was he had been so close. He’d almost gotten exactly what he wanted.
“In a different version of this,” I said, “it goes exactly according to plan.”
Jeff stared at me, his confusion evident. This man, this sad, pathetic sack of organs and blood and air, had killed twelve kids. He’d killed Sawyer and my sister and so many other innocent lives. He’d stolen everything that mattered to me, and he had the audacity to look pitiful because I had taken away his toy.
A shudder of revulsion washed over me.
I should have called the police before I followed him, but the law was too fair. The law would give him a trial, and he would stay alive for years before being punished by death.
I had called someone very different before I stepped out of the shadows, a call that didn’t need a phone, so it didn’t matter how far belowground we were. The nice thing about calling a god is that they’re always listening. One prayer is all it takes when they’re already listening for you.
When the smell of sweet, fresh hay filled my nostrils, I knew my chance to take revenge was over.
Macha’s steps clomped loudly, echoing across the low ceiling, her hooves clattering against the concrete in a way that made each one sound like a gunshot. Jeff flinched and paled as they got closer. A sheen of sweat broke out over his skin. I’d feel sorry for him if I had an ounce of compassion left in me.
She appeared then, towering nine feet tall, looking majestic and horrible all at once. It was a skill the gods were well versed in, wearing two faces at the same time. Her long braids hung down over her shoulders. The crows on her head preened and spread their wings wide, making her crown huge and impossibly grotesque.
The blood on the hem of her dress glittered like rubies in the low light of the parking garage, like it was fresh. Beneath the skirts, her horselike legs shuffled.