Read Online Where Angels Fear to Tread by Thomas E. Sniegoski - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Thomas E. Sniegoski
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had obliged him, laying map after map of the entire charted world down upon the floor before him. And after some time, and a great deal of pain, the Hound had found what he believed to be the location of her precious heart's desire, and it had brought them here, to the United States.
To Palatka, Florida.
The phone suddenly rang and she gasped, picking it up and quickly placing it against her ear.
"Did you find it?" she asked immediately.
"Not exactly," Mathias replied, and Delilah felt the world drop out from beneath her.
"What do you mean, not exactly?" she snarled, glaring at Poole. She was tempted to order him to stop breathing; that would certainly fix him for his incompetence.
"Perhaps you should come inside," Mathias suggested. "And bring Poole along."
Delilah broke the connection, letting the phone drop from her hand.
"Poole," she said.
The man immediately stiffened, his gaze slowly turning toward her.
"You're coming with me," she commanded.
The driver was already out of the truck and opening her door to the sweltering Florida air.
Poole followed, still clutching the metal container forged in the shape of a child, still mumbling beneath his breath, as he trailed his mistress up the overgrown path to the dilapidated house.
Mathias averted his gaze.
"I'm sorry, mistress," he said.
Delilah strode into the room, her eyes scanning the paltry location.
A woman held a child in her arms, placating the little boy with animal cracker after animal cracker. "Who are you people?" the mother demanded. "Is this about the weed Ron sold? Because if it is . . ."
"Janie, shut your fucking yap," the filthy man said, scowling.
"Be quiet," Delilah snapped, and Ron was compelled to shut his mouth at once. She then looked back to the woman.
The child smiled warmly, offering Delilah one of his half-eaten treats.
She approached the mother and child, her anger and disappointment partially dissipating with the child's attention.
"I used to have a little boy just your age," she told the little one, reaching out to stroke the side of his head. "He died of pox while I cradled his tiny body in my arms," Delilah continued, remembering in a violent slash of recollection the death of one of her sons.
Janie twisted her child away from Delilah's affections, her eyes filled with a mother's rage. "Don't you touch him."
Delilah remembered that rage. She had used it to fuel her survival through the ages.
And there was so much of it, so much pain.
She often wondered how much damage her pain would do if it were somehow turned into a weapon and unleashed upon the world.
"Have Poole come in," she said, turning away and focusing on Mathias.
Her head of security went to the door and opened it. "Bring the Hound," he said.
Yelverton dragged the wild-eyed man through the doorway. He looked around, his head bobbing as his entire body began to twitch.
"What the fuck's wrong with him?" Ron asked.
The little boy started to laugh, clapping his cookie-covered hands together as Poole dropped violently to the floor, the vessel clattering from his grasp.
Mathias moved to haul the man up, but Delilah stopped him.
"Leave him," she commanded, watching as Poole thrashed and bucked upon the floor.
"Maybe we should call 911 or something," Ron offered, fear in his eyes. "Looks like the poor bastard's having a fit."
In a way the man was correct; Poole was indeed having some kind of fit as his body attempted to lock on to traces of Delilah's prize, and by his reaction, it had most definitely been here.
"What is it, Poole?" she asked, striding closer as he lay on the floor moaning, his hands reaching for the vessel.
"Hiding," the man croaked, dragging himself toward the metal container. "Trying so hard . . . trying so hard to mask its trail . . . but it was here. . . ."
His hands finally closed around the vessel, and he fought to stand.
"It was here," he screamed again, hurling himself across the house toward a cabinet in the corner. He smashed
To Palatka, Florida.
The phone suddenly rang and she gasped, picking it up and quickly placing it against her ear.
"Did you find it?" she asked immediately.
"Not exactly," Mathias replied, and Delilah felt the world drop out from beneath her.
"What do you mean, not exactly?" she snarled, glaring at Poole. She was tempted to order him to stop breathing; that would certainly fix him for his incompetence.
"Perhaps you should come inside," Mathias suggested. "And bring Poole along."
Delilah broke the connection, letting the phone drop from her hand.
"Poole," she said.
The man immediately stiffened, his gaze slowly turning toward her.
"You're coming with me," she commanded.
The driver was already out of the truck and opening her door to the sweltering Florida air.
Poole followed, still clutching the metal container forged in the shape of a child, still mumbling beneath his breath, as he trailed his mistress up the overgrown path to the dilapidated house.
Mathias averted his gaze.
"I'm sorry, mistress," he said.
Delilah strode into the room, her eyes scanning the paltry location.
A woman held a child in her arms, placating the little boy with animal cracker after animal cracker. "Who are you people?" the mother demanded. "Is this about the weed Ron sold? Because if it is . . ."
"Janie, shut your fucking yap," the filthy man said, scowling.
"Be quiet," Delilah snapped, and Ron was compelled to shut his mouth at once. She then looked back to the woman.
The child smiled warmly, offering Delilah one of his half-eaten treats.
She approached the mother and child, her anger and disappointment partially dissipating with the child's attention.
"I used to have a little boy just your age," she told the little one, reaching out to stroke the side of his head. "He died of pox while I cradled his tiny body in my arms," Delilah continued, remembering in a violent slash of recollection the death of one of her sons.
Janie twisted her child away from Delilah's affections, her eyes filled with a mother's rage. "Don't you touch him."
Delilah remembered that rage. She had used it to fuel her survival through the ages.
And there was so much of it, so much pain.
She often wondered how much damage her pain would do if it were somehow turned into a weapon and unleashed upon the world.
"Have Poole come in," she said, turning away and focusing on Mathias.
Her head of security went to the door and opened it. "Bring the Hound," he said.
Yelverton dragged the wild-eyed man through the doorway. He looked around, his head bobbing as his entire body began to twitch.
"What the fuck's wrong with him?" Ron asked.
The little boy started to laugh, clapping his cookie-covered hands together as Poole dropped violently to the floor, the vessel clattering from his grasp.
Mathias moved to haul the man up, but Delilah stopped him.
"Leave him," she commanded, watching as Poole thrashed and bucked upon the floor.
"Maybe we should call 911 or something," Ron offered, fear in his eyes. "Looks like the poor bastard's having a fit."
In a way the man was correct; Poole was indeed having some kind of fit as his body attempted to lock on to traces of Delilah's prize, and by his reaction, it had most definitely been here.
"What is it, Poole?" she asked, striding closer as he lay on the floor moaning, his hands reaching for the vessel.
"Hiding," the man croaked, dragging himself toward the metal container. "Trying so hard . . . trying so hard to mask its trail . . . but it was here. . . ."
His hands finally closed around the vessel, and he fought to stand.
"It was here," he screamed again, hurling himself across the house toward a cabinet in the corner. He smashed
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