Читать книгу The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters - Derek Landy - Страница 19

MILO WOKE AMBER BEFORE five, stirring her from a fitful sleep. She had dreamed of demons and horns and the castles of hell, and she had dreamed of her parents chasing her. She had dreamed of herself as a monster, drenched in blood.

She turned over in her cot and cried silently.

When she had showered and dressed, she joined Milo in the kitchen. He’d made himself a coffee, and poured a juice for her. They drank in silence, listening to the soft sounds of snoring that drifted from Edgar’s bedroom. He had gone to sleep like an excited schoolboy after quizzing Amber about everything she had seen and heard. Her entire experience was now on paper, told through the crazy scribbles and hieroglyphics that was Edgar’s handwriting.

Everything except the time limit, the number that was now burned into her wrist. She wasn’t going to embark on this journey with Milo already viewing her as a screw-up. If she could come away with only one thing from all this craziness, it was going to be the respect of the people around her.

Her wrist ached slightly, and she glanced at it. The numbers now read 500.

Four hours gone already.

Amber pulled her sleeve down quickly to cover it, as Milo laid the map he was perusing on the countertop. “Wisconsin,” he said, tapping the old, creased paper. “And right here is Springton, Dacre Shanks’s old hunting ground. It’s about fifteen hundred miles from here. We’ll be taking I-75 for some of it, but we’re going to be doing our best to stay away from traffic. Your folks will be pulling out all the stops by now, and we don’t want to be spotted by any of their people.”

“How long will it take?”

“Twenty hours of driving, maybe twenty-two, if we were taking the quickest route. But because we’re not … I don’t know. Add another six hours on at the least. Twenty-eight hours on the road, driving eight hours a day, is a little over three days.”

“We can drive more than eight hours a day,” said Amber. “I’ve got my learner’s permit: we can alternate.”

“We won’t be alternating.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the driver,” said Milo, in a tone that suggested finality, “and we’re taking my car, and, while I’ll be able to travel longer at the start, it’s going to quickly average out at eight hours a day of driving time. You don’t have to know why. You just have to know that those are the rules.”

“Whatever,” she muttered. Three days to get there, maybe a day to find Shanks and talk to him, which would leave her with seventeen days to find the man they was looking for and deliver him to the Shining Demon. Plenty of time.

“We’ll need to change vehicles before we leave Miami, though,” Milo said.

Amber frowned. “You think my parents know what we’re driving already?”

“It’s not that,” Milo said, shaking his head. “For a trip like this, we need a special kind of car.” He took her empty glass, and washed it and his mug in the sink. “I’m also going to need an advance on the money, by the way.”

“How much?”

“Five grand ought to do it.”

“Right …”

He looked back at her. “You think I’m going to abscond with it?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, not at all, it’s just—”

“You don’t know me,” said Milo, putting the mug and glass down to drain. “Imelda does, but you don’t. You don’t know if I’m trustworthy.”

“She trusts you.”

“But you don’t. And why would you? I’ve done nothing to earn your trust. Handing over five grand to a guy you’ve just met and whom you don’t yet trust would seem to be a stupid thing to do.”

“So I shouldn’t give you the money?”

“No, you should,” he said. “I’m just pointing out the corner you’ve been backed into. Trust me or not trust me, you’re going to give me the money because you don’t have a choice.”

“I’m confused,” said Amber. “Is this a life lesson I should be making a note of?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what that lesson is, are you?”

“You’ll never learn it if I just tell you,” Milo said. “Ready to go?”

“Uh yeah, OK,” she said. “Should we say goodbye to Edgar?”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because that’s what people do. They say hello, how are you, goodbye, and they say thanks for your help.”

“Edgar doesn’t need any of that.” Milo folded the map, and Amber watched how it shrank into a neat little packet. She’d never have been able to do that so cleanly.

It had stopped raining. They got into the SUV, and she passed him a money roll. He flicked through it, counting the five thousand, and nodded. She lay across the back seat, the blanket over her once again. Milo turned on the headlights and they got back on the turnpike. The roads were still quiet.

It was warm under the blanket. Amber yawned, closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to sleep. Sleep meant bad dreams. Sleep meant monsters. But when she opened her eyes and sat up they were pulling up outside a dark house somewhere in outer suburbia, the sky only just beginning to lighten, birdsong threading the pale air.

“Grab your stuff,” Milo said.

They got out and took their bags from the back. Amber stood holding hers while she watched Milo go round to the passenger side. He opened up the glove compartment, took out a gun, and clipped the holster on to his belt. Then he closed the door, pressed the fob, and the SUV beeped and locked.

“Are you a cop, or something?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

He walked into the darkness between two houses. He didn’t tell her to follow him or to stay, so she hoisted her bag over her shoulder and she followed. They came to the side door of a garage. Milo took out his wallet, searched inside it for a moment, and came out with a key. He opened the door and went inside. Amber waited a few seconds, then followed.

He shut the door after her, and locked it. Amber stood in complete darkness. The window had been boarded up. Milo moved around her.

“Is there a light in here?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.

She dug into her shorts, came out with the matchbook that Edgar had given her. She struck one and light flared.

A long table against one wall contained all manner of tools and engine parts. She could suddenly smell oil, like the curiously sweet aroma had been holding itself back until she could see what she was smelling. A car covered by a tarp took up most of the space in the garage.

“You took his matches, huh?” Milo said, putting his bag on the table.

“Oh. Uh yeah. I forgot to give them back. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Milo said. “I took the powder flask.”

Her eyes widened. “He paid a lot of money for that. Isn’t he going to be mad when he finds out?”

“Don’t see why he would be,” said Milo, moving to the tarp. “It works for you and you’re going to need it again, with any luck. Why would he be mad about that?”

“Because it’s not mine.”

“Edgar doesn’t care about things like ownership. He doesn’t even own the condo he’s living in.”

“He’s renting it?”

“He’s stolen it.”

Amber frowned. “How can you steal a condo?”

“By pretending to be the son of the elderly owner so that you can ship her off to a home for the infirm.”

She gaped. “That’s horrible!”

“Not really,” said Milo. “The owner used to be a nurse who mistreated her patients. Edgar made sure everyone in the home knew about it, too.”

“Oh,” said Amber. “Well, I guess that’s okay, then.”

Milo pulled back the tarp, revealing a black car, an old one, the kind Amber had seen in movies, with a long hood and a sloping back.

“Nice,” she said.

He looked at her sharply. “Nice?”

She hesitated. “It’s pretty. What is it?”

“It’s a 1970 Dodge Charger, and it is a she.”

“Right,” said Amber. “She’s very nice, then.”

Milo walked round the car, looking at it lovingly.

“The reason we can only travel eight hours a day,” said Amber, “is it because your car will fall apart if we go longer?”

“You see any rust?” Milo asked, not rising to the bait. “Storing an old car in this humidity is not generally a good idea, not for any length of time, let alone twelve years. But she’s different. She is pristine. Under the hood there she’s got the 440 Six Pack, three two-barrel carburettors and 390 horses. She’s a beast.”

“Yeah. Words. Cool.”

His hand hovered over the roof, like he was unsure as to whether or not he should actually touch it. Then he did, and his eyes closed and Amber wondered if she should leave him to it.

“You, uh, really love this car, huh?”

“She was my life,” he said softly.

“Yeah. This is getting weird.”

He opened the door, paused, and slid in. Sitting behind the wheel, his face in shadow, he looked for a moment like just another part of the car. She heard the keys jangle and she backed away from the hood. If the car really hadn’t been started in twelve years, she doubted anything was going to happen, but she didn’t want to be standing there if it suddenly blew up.

And yet, when Milo turned the key in the ignition, the garage reverberated with a deep and throaty growl that rose through the soles of Amber’s feet and quickened her pulse. It was impressive, she had to admit that.

Milo flicked the headlights on and they shone blood-red for a moment, before fading to a strong yellow.

“Cool,” she whispered, and this time she meant it.