Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

safe.”
    McKesson began to trot. “If we get there first, they won’t be able to come through,” he said.
    I ran after him, and we raced to the elevators. McKesson paused to call their security. Two unsmiling men showed up and handed the detective a keycard pass without comment. They followed us up to the eighteenth floor, but stayed in the elevator lobby. I could tell they were annoyed. I recalled Bernie telling me that they preferred to handle security issues on their own, but they clearly had their orders to cooperate with McKesson.
    We entered Jenna’s old room just as the space inside began to warp. I saw right away there was going to be a problem: the warping had begun in the region of the sliding glass door. The slider and the curtains were rippling. I heard the glass rattle and shiver, as if there were a storm outside.
    McKesson gave a nasty laugh when he saw it. “If they don’t pay attention and come through into that, this is going to be great.”
    It wasn’t great. A figure stepped through, wearing normal clothing. A hood covered his face. His hands werecovered by black leather gloves with the fingers cut away. Those fingers weren’t gray, I realized with a shock.
    The moment the figure was firmly in the room, the sheet of glass that formed the sliding door exploded in a gush of blood. Stricken, the man staggered and pitched onto the table where Jenna and I had consumed a bottle of century-old wine the night before. He quivered and died, his body winged by blades of glass and shreds of fabric from the curtains.
    “You missed, buddy,” McKesson said to the corpse. He nudged the body until it slipped off the table onto the carpet. “What the hell is this? A frat boy?”
    I inspected the dead man, grimacing. We were clearly not dealing with a Gray Man. He was quite human. He had a growth of black beard, cut short and bristling. His hazel eyes stared up at the ceiling above us. There were strange tattoos on his neck that looked like tentacles trying to crawl up out of his shirt.
    “Damned amateurs,” McKesson grumbled. “How the hell did he step out to wherever he was and then get back here again?”
    I peered into the smoky space that filled the balcony. I couldn’t see much. It was dark on both sides of the opening. The darkness, plus a lack of caution, had killed our suspect.
    “I’m going through,” I said.
    “Are you crazy?”
    “Yeah, but I have to take a look. Someone is sending rips through wherever I’ve just been. Holly might have been taken by this guy—or his friends.”
    “You are stepping out again for a stripper?” he asked. “On a maybe?”
    “No one else is coming through to our side. Maybe there is no one else over there. Or maybe there is and I’ll find outwho’s trying to kill me. Clearly, it’s not just the Gray Men who are involved in all this.”
    “Whatever happened to following my lead?”
    “Look, they’re going to keep trying for me. Are you coming or not?”
    McKesson shook his head. “Hell no,” he said. “But you go ahead. When they tear you up and toss you back, I’ll put a bullet in your brain out of compassion.”
    “Thanks a lot,” I said, and I stepped out.
    The far side was pitch black, but I could tell I wasn’t out in the open desert this time. I was in a room of some kind. The sounds were different, as were the smells and the temperature of the air. All the purring background city sounds had vanished. It was cooler now. The air seemed still and dank. Disoriented and fearful, I dug out my cell phone and used the pale blue radiance from its screen to illuminate the room around me. I knew I could be literally anywhere—but so far I didn’t sense anything dangerous.
    I took a step or two forward, feeling my way. My eyes were still adjusting a moment later when I heard a heavy
whump
sound behind me as if something had been thrown. I whirled with my .32 automatic in my hand, held my fire as I looked down to see a man-shaped form had slumped behind me onto the floor, right where I’d appeared a moment earlier.
    It wasn’t moving. I kicked it over onto its back. Then I knew.
    It was the dead guy with the glass in his chest. McKesson must have tossed him through the opening after me, erasing evidence as usual.
    “McKesson, you bastard,” I muttered.
    “Who’s there?” called a quiet voice. A female voice.
    I turned slowly. I could see more now, as my eyes had gotten used to the gloom. I walked toward the voice withmy gun out. I