Shasta made a note of which way they went when they drove off, then stepped into the between world. A shudder ran through him and he had to take a few moments to breathe deeply and relax from the jolt of deep-seated terror. Then he brought up the Jones-shape out of the fog and set it walking. It went in circles for a while, pausing only once; but after a few minutes it began pacing again. Shasta waited patiently until it headed off in a straight line and followed, using it to open up a doorway to a large hotel in a nearby city.
As he stepped out of the between world he felt the creature pass by him again, invisible even under the pale yellow circles cast by the sodium-arc lights. He fought off another shiver and followed it, keeping a good distance between them. No one paid them any attention as they passed through the front foyer of the hotel, though he saw a woman shiver as the creature brushed past her shoulder. On the way by Shasta ran a hand over her shoulder, removing the faint traces of poisoned thought that the creature had left behind.
He followed it up the stairs, where it gently opened the door to Jones’s room, despite the lock and deadbolt. Shasta hurried to catch up to it before it could attack Jones, but instead he was just in time to watch Jones swing himself over the balcony railing. The creature hesitated long enough to allow Jones time to go along the ledge and start climbing up the maintenance ladder before following. Shasta went out long enough to look over the railing and see how high up they were, then stepped into the between world just long enough to go up to the roof in a few steps.
Jones was already scrambling to his feet and took off across the roof before Shasta could reach him. The creature appeared over the top of the maintenance ladder and lunged at his heels but just missed, growling in frustration. It turned to follow Jones then suddenly stopped and turned to stare at Shasta, its rudimentary features arranged in an expression of surprise.
“Get lost,” he told it, and booted it off the roof.
He heard it snarl on the way down but he was already chasing after Jones, cursing under his breath as Jones started jumping across roofs. Wondering where the guy got the energy, he followed, landing awkwardly on the last jump. Ahead of him he saw Jones slip on the slanted roof and slide down to the edge, just barely catching himself on the gutter. Shasta moved without thinking, grabbing hold of Jones’s wrist with both hands as he lost his grip.
“Hi,” he said, unable to help a grin. “Need a hand?”
Jones stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then reached up and grabbed hold of him with his other hand. Shasta managed to drag him up enough for him to get a knee over the edge of the roof, and he heaved himself up, rolling over onto his back to catch his breath. Shasta sat down heavily beside him, feeling out of breath himself; Jones was heavier than he looked. He took a few deep breaths then froze as Jones laid the length of a knife against his throat.
“What are you up to?” Jones asked, almost pleasantly.
“Saving your life?” Shasta took a shallow breath, trying not to move. “You know, to make up for trying to kill you.”
“Or you’re behind all of this in an attempt to make me trust you. Like poachers who put parrot fledglings in danger so they can rescue them.”
That surprised a laugh out of him. “Seriously? Jonesy want a cracker?”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Fair enough. Can we at least agree to keep sharp objects away from each other?”
“Explain what you’re doing here first.”
“Well, I followed you. Because I got fired.”
“So you thought you’d get back into The Collector’s good graces by capturing me anyway?”
“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a big ‘fuck you’. And what’s a bigger fuck you than switching sides?”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you.”
“Well, we can’t sit up here forever, so either cut my throat or put the knife away.”
He sensed Jones studying him, though he didn’t quite dare turn to look at the other man. After a moment Jones took the knife away, flipped it closed, and put it in a pocket. Shasta breathed a silent sigh of relief and glanced over at Jones, frowning a little when he saw fresh blood spotting the shoulder of Jones’s shirt.
“Hey, you’re bleeding.”
Jones put a hand to his shoulder and studied the blood on his fingers. “Probably popped some of the stitches.”
“Can I look?” Shasta held up both hands, palms out, at Jones’s wary glare. “I’m pretty good at doctoring. I promise I won’t offer you any crackers.”
“No.” Jones pushed himself to his feet. “I didn’t cut your throat, but that doesn’t mean I want to be near you. I have things to do.”
“At least tell me what you did with the construct.”
“Drae.” Jones gave him a dirty look. “His name is Drae.”
“Oh, is it?” Shasta said neutrally. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Bye, Shasta.” Jones headed for the fire escape, limping slightly.
“I can help you find him.” Shasta studied Jones’s broad back as the other man stopped, and counted under his breath until Jones turned. It took nearly 30 seconds, but he did turn, raising an eyebrow slightly.
“Who says I lost him?”
“Do we have to play this game? He’s not here and you look like you’ve been put through the ringer. Plus I know there are people besides me after him. So either you’ve lost him or you’ve sold him off to someone.”
“I didn’t sell him,” Jones muttered.
“So you lost him. And I can help you find him.” He grinned when he saw Jones’s surrender on his face. “I have an old friend who’s good at finding lost people so we’ll go talk to him first. Besides, I have things to discuss with him.” He offered his hand. “Trust me?”
Jones glanced down at his hand then up to his face, but still hesitated, raising his arm then dropping it. Shasta fought off an entirely inappropriate urge to start laughing and just waited patiently until Jones reluctantly took his hand. Lacing their fingers together, Shasta pulled him through into the between world, and then out again to his friend’s place. It was already dark here but there were lights on in the cabin, and the door opened under his hand.
“Hey!” he called as he led Jones inside. “Anyone home?”
“Shasta?” Wiping wet hands on a dish towel, his friend came out of the kitchen, breaking out into a grin when he saw him. “I thought you might show up soon.”
“You know something I don’t? Oh, this is Jones. I have no idea what his real name is. Jones, what is your real name?” Shasta turned to look at Jones, but Jones paid him no attention, staring open-mouthed at the doorway into the living room, where the construct—Drae, Shasta reminded himself—stood staring at them with equal surprise.
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