Page 9 of Incubus
“We’re going to her for help, Nate, not a date.”
“What’s wrong with getting both?”
“Nathan.” Jim shook his head, but the glimmers of a smile were twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re just jealous I called dibs first.”
“Nathan.”
“Ah, come on, Jim, I’m just trying to have a little fun.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “That was our exit,” he said, pointing at the passing onramp that would have merged them onto their next Interstate.
“Oh. Shit.”
Beigecarpetingandfreshlypainted white walls surrounded them inside Park Glen Apartments, making the whole place seem unnaturally sterile.
“What number again?” Nathan asked after they had climbed to the third floor. They were in St. Louis Park, a suburb only a few short miles from downtown Minneapolis. It was Friday night, still early, but with so few people around it had been easy to sneak into the building.
“It’s apartment 312. But hang on,” Jim said, grabbing Nathan's arm. “What are we going to say? Excuse us, Miss, but our psychic friend said you’re going to save us from the evil faeries? She’ll think we’re nuts.”
“If this Sasha chick is really supposed to help us then she has to know something about the Veil,” Nathan countered. “We can just…I don’t know, make up some story until we feel her out enough to know if we can bring up the truth without her freaking. Hell, maybe she’s another psychic and already knows we’re coming. Wade didn’t have much for specifics. Just a name and number.”
“I guess,” Jim said, reluctantly releasing Nathan’s arm, “but then what’s the story? Old friends she for some reason has no memory of?”
“I’ll think of something.” Nathan knocked twice on the door to apartment 312, confident he could at least sweet talk his way through an initial meeting until they could figure out how much of therealworld Sasha knew.
Nathan knocked again. She was supposed to be here. It was the right apartment, the right day. But after a couple knocks more, there was still no answer.
"Maybe we're early. Wade wasn’t exactly sure, remember?” Jim spoke in hushed tones, like he was afraid the girl who obviously wasn't home would hear him. “Did we change time zones?”
Nathan snorted. “Not since Wisconsin,” he said. He decided to try a different tactic. He reached for the doorknob.
“Nate!” Jim hissed at him.
“Quiet,” Nathan hissed right back. Something was definitely wrong.
The door was unlocked.
Nathan shot Jim a knowing look. With a quick survey of the hallway to be sure no one else was around, he pulled out the handgun he had tucked into his jeans. Jim gaped at him.
"You're the one who wanted to bring them, remember? Hey, Walter,” Nathan called out as he turned away from his brother, darting his eyes around the hallway until his personal ghost materialized to the right of Jim. “Scout ahead, will ya? I got a bad feeling about this.”
Walter was scowling as if to say that he had had a bad feeling about this from the beginning, but he nodded. Stepping around Jim, Walter passed Nathan to walkthroughthe closed apartment door.
“Did he go?” Jim asked.
“We’re good. Get ready.”
Nathan gave the door a gentle push and let it swing slowly open. There were no signs of anything in their immediate line of sight other than a closet door. The lights were off, but the curtains had to be open somewhere because it was more than bright enough to see. Sasha could have run out for a moment; maybe she was doing laundry and had forgotten to lock the doorbehind her. It waspossible, but Nathan doubted they were that lucky.
They entered the apartment cautiously, clicking the door closed behind them. Passing the empty galley kitchen that smelled faintly of stale bread, they eventually reached the dining and living room to the right. The yellow tape blocking the living room entrance and leading further down the hallway toward the bedroom made both of them falter.
"This is a crime scene," Jim said, stumbling back the way they had come. "We're too late. She has to be dead."
"Hey. Don't jump ahead on this," Nathan said. "Do you see any blood? Any marked evidence lying around? Anycops? That tape's old, been here for a week or more and no one's come back to clean up the last of the mess. Wade wouldn't have sent us here if this Sasha chick got killed days ago."
Jim's brow remained tightly knit. “Where’s Walter?” he asked.
