The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters. Derek LandyЧитать онлайн книгу.
blinked.
Eventually she said, “Just had a shower.”
Milo nodded. “Good.”
“How was the water?” Veronica asked.
“Hot,” said Amber.
Milo nodded again, like this was an important piece of information he needed to file away. “Okay, well, see you in the morning.”
“Yes, you will,” Amber replied. “Goodnight.”
Veronica gave her a beautiful smile, and Amber watched them both disappear into Milo’s room.
She got to her own room and locked the door, then put her clothes on the chair. Then she stood in the middle of the room and frowned.
She had to admit, it was weird seeing Milo and Veronica … together. She found herself actually surprised, probably because the kind of things she associated with Milo were danger and fear and, to a possibly worrying degree, death. It had never occurred to her that he might have normal feelings behind all that alert coolness. She was even disappointed, in a way. She would have thought that someone like Veronica, as undeniably sexy as she was, would have had no effect on him. Amber had expected him to be above that sort of thing.
She laughed to herself at how prudish she sounded. He was a grown man, and he was allowed to do whatever he wanted, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
She crossed to her bed, pulled the covers back, and slipped between them. The sheets were crisp, and she smiled. Nothing better than a freshly made bed. The pillow was cool, and she sank back into it. Not too soft, not too firm. Just right, as Goldilocks had said. She looked up at the ceiling, an off-white without any cracks.
Her smile faded.
She thought about Dacre Shanks, being digested in the trunk of the Charger. She thought about the Charger itself, and what manner of beast it was. She thought about Heather Medina and her father, wondered how they were. She thought of Gregory Buxton’s mother, and what they were going to do if they couldn’t convince her to help them. And she thought of her parents.
Most of all, she thought of her parents.
When tears came to her eyes, she rubbed them away and turned out the light. She dozed, then woke and lay there, changing position every few minutes.
Finally, she rolled on to her back again and listened to the hotel. It creaked softly. Groaned. Doors opened and closed. She heard muted footsteps. Muted voices. A dimmed world beyond these four walls, a world that was not about her, a world that didn’t concern itself with her fears or her troubles. A world that would not mourn her passing, yet neither would it celebrate. An indifferent world. Uncaring. A world that reduced her to a speck.
Amber sat up. “Well, that’s depressing,” she muttered aloud.
She turned on the light and got up. She drew back the curtains, then opened the window and leaned out, breathing in the night air. She liked how cool it was. The air actually made her shiver. She allowed herself a smile, let herself enjoy the sensation.
There was movement below her – a window opening. Amber watched with mild amusement as someone else leaned out to experience the night in the same way as her. All she could see was the top of the guest’s head. Maybe this was a thing people felt compelled to do here – look out across town and contemplate life.
Another window opened, and another head poked out. Then another, and the top of yet another guest’s head. Amber stifled a giggle, remembering clips she’d seen from an old game show called Hollywood Squares. She resisted the urge to call out to them, let them share in the joke. But her smile faded when she watched the guests climb out of the windows, clinging to the wall, face down, before they let themselves drop into the darkness below.
Something blurred by to her left – someone dropping from a window above. She turned, looked up, straight into the face of Varga himself as he clung to the brickwork, his coat billowing behind him, his eyes wild and boring into hers. Then he released his hold on the wall and plummeted towards her.
AMBER SHRIEKED AND WHIPPED her head back, and Varga fell past her window.
She shut it quickly, backed away, then left the room, running to Milo’s.
She slammed her fist against the door. “Milo, open up! Milo!”
Glen emerged from his room. “Amber? What’s going on?”
“We have to leave. Varga’s … I don’t know what he is. But there’s others like him, and we have to get out of here before they … do something.”
Glen nodded. “You’re not making a whole lot of sense, you know.”
Amber ignored him, twisting the handle of Milo’s door. To her surprise, it opened, and she ran in. The room was empty. The bed hadn’t been slept in.
Amber’s fingers curled in her hair. “Did you see him?”
“See who?” asked Glen.
“Milo! Who else? Did you see him?”
“Since dinner? No. Did you?”
“I saw him heading in here, with her.”
“Her who?”
“The woman, Veronica.”
Glen looked dismayed. “She went off with Milo? Aw man. She was giving me the eye all evening.”
“She barely looked at you.”
“That’s called being coy.”
Amber brushed past him, ran back to her room. Glen tried coming in after her, but she pushed him out.
“I’m getting dressed,” she said. “Wait there. Tell me if you see anyone.”
She slammed the door, ripped off her pyjamas and pulled on her clothes. When she was done, she left the room and hurried down the stairs.
“Can you please tell me what’s going on?” Glen asked, right behind her.
Amber put a finger to her lips, and he scowled and shut up.
She crept through the hotel, noting for the first time how quiet it suddenly was, like it was holding its breath. There was no one at the front desk. She turned to share a look with Glen, but he was completely oblivious to how creepy it all was.
“Can I talk now?” he asked.
She hissed, and hit him, and he scowled again and rubbed his arm.
She led the way to the rear of the hotel. By now, even Glen had noticed how unnatural the silence was.
“Where is everyone?” he whispered.
Amber didn’t answer.
They got to the small door leading to the parking area in the courtyard. The few feeble lights outside did little to dispel the encroaching darkness, but Amber really had no choice. She counted to three, then lunged from the hotel. Nothing jumped out at her, thank God. She ran to the hedge and stopped, her feet kicking up a shower of little stones. Glen almost bumped into her.
“Oops, sorry,” he said. “What’s wrong? Why— Hey, where’s the car?”
“He’s gone,” Amber said softly.
Glen walked to the middle of the courtyard, like that would give him a vantage point from which to see the missing Charger. “Where? Where’s he gone? Do you think he has Veronica with him? We should have a rule in future. The I saw her first rule. Y’know, it would have been me, but I’m too much of a gentleman to make a move so soon.”
From overhead, a fluttering.
Amber