Free MORTAL COILS by Unknown Page A

way out of it . . . and that
wasn’t his best thing.
     
    Audrey
Post led him inside.
     
    He
smelled something baking and the overpowering scent from the molding pages of
all those books.
     
    He
saw a very old woman in the dining room, hovering over the children. She wore
what might have been a costume from Gone with the Wind and looked ancient
enough to have worn it during a real Civil War cotillion. She glared at him.
     
    The
boy and girl clutched books in their laps, and they stared at Wel-mann with
that mix of annoyance and curiosity that was pure teenager.
     
    Behind
them, draped over the window, was a banner with HAPPY BIRTHDAY on it. Marcus
was interrupting in a big, awkward way.
     
    Good
investigative technique—barging into the middle of these kids’ party. Nice and
inconspicuous, he thought. Still, better him than Crumble.
     
    “Children,”
Audrey Post said, “this is Mr. Welmann, an old friend of the family.”
     
    Welmann
slipped the fake police shield back into his pocket. So much for that dodge.
Audrey Post was playing another game, one where he didn’t understand the rules.
Best go along for now.
     
    The
boy and girl exchanged looks and then stared at him. They were a year or two
younger than Robert.
     
    “Friend
of the family?” Fiona leaned forward. “Did you know our parents, sir?”
     
    “Shush,”
Audrey Post told her. “Go—you’re late for work, both of you.” Her voice
softened a bit and she added, “We’ll finish this later. I have business with
this gentleman.”
     
    Both
kids glanced at some paper bags on the table, then said together, “Yes,
Grandmother.” They rose, nodded at Welmann, and retreated into the shadows of
the apartment.
     
    So
Ms. Audrey Post was their grandmother. That made sense. Welmann listened, but
detected no one else in the apartment. Where were the kids’ mom and dad?
Parents normally didn’t miss birthdays. The girl, however, had asked him if he
had known her parents. As in past tense. As in dead now.
     
    Audrey
Post turned to the old woman and said, “Cecilia, bring tea, please.”
     
    The
older woman hesitated, opened her mouth as if to tell her something, but then
backed into the kitchen, all the time watching Welmann.
     
    The
children reappeared and headed for the front door with lunch sacks. They each
gave their grandmother a polite kiss on the cheek.
     
    “It
was nice to meet you, Mr. Welmann,” Fiona said.
     
    “Nice
to meet you, too,” he said.
     
    Sweet
kid. Polite. You didn’t see that much anymore today. All the more reason to
figure this out and move them somewhere safe from Crumble.
     
    The
kids left and closed the apartment door behind them.
     
    “Now,”
Audrey Post said, “we will talk.”
     
    Welmann
felt his equilibrium shift a few degrees more . . . as if the entire room had
just tilted. He would have preferred a mano a mano with Mr. Uri Crumble. That
would have been a lot safer. Audrey Post had power; any person with a blink of
the sight could see that.
     
    “You
were sent to find me?”
     
    Welmann
wasn’t stupid enough to lie. “Yes, ma’am.”
     
    “You
are a Driver, correct?”
     
    She
could have picked up that cake, candles and all, and smashed it into his face,
and that would have been less of a surprise.
     
    Welmann
felt an instinctual urge to take a few steps backward, but he held his ground,
steeled himself, and nodded.
     
    If
she knew he was a Driver, and more important what a Driver was, then it
followed that she knew his boss and probably why he was interested in her . . .
which was more than he’d been told.
     
    She
didn’t look the least bit worried about any of this, either. “What did they
tell you about me?” Her gray eyes narrowed a bit.
     
    Welmann
swallowed, his throat bone-dry. So she didn’t know everything. Good. The
clairvoyant ones were always a pain in the ass.
     
    “They
said not to talk to you.”
     
    Audrey
Post cocked her head as if listening for something,