Titan Song Dan Stout (top 20 books to read txt) 📖

I’d come to confront Vandie Cedrow, but the opportunity to get a glimpse at her private stash was too good to pass up. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I figured that whatever Vandie had stored under lock and key might be of interest. If I saw something worth the bother, I could come back later with a warrant.

The back office of the doghouse had once belonged to the site supervisor, but had been converted to living quarters. Vandie’s quarters would’ve had an amazing view if it hadn’t been swallowed whole by the festival tent. Windows facing north and south instead looked out on nothing but billowing fabric.

Signs of life were scattered around the place. There were expensive suitcases stacked along one wall, each filled with expensively fashionable bohemian chic clothing. Clothes and notebooks scattered over the bed, and the barely rumpled sheets. The kind of signs left behind by someone who was rarely present, or who was sleeping as infrequently as her body would allow. The only other furniture in the room was the site super’s desk, pushed back against a wall to make room for the bed. The desktop was covered with blueprints and schematics, apparently for the rig site and the newly fabricated tent system. All of them were stamped with TPM—Tremby Property Management. I assumed that was the name of Vandie’s company. But all of that was background noise. Of more interest was the reel-to-reel player and notebooks.

The tape machine and notebooks sat in a stack. She’d been transcribing? There was no attempt to hide them, likely the arrogance of someone young and wealthy enough to always have their private space respected. I flipped through the top notebook. The second page had a name that caught my eye. Heidelbrecht.

The out-of-control researcher who had helped Harlan Cedrow in his mad quest for oil. The man who’d weaponized madness and ignored anything approaching morality or empathy along the way. The scientist who’d aided Paulus in her self-absorbed pursuit of immortality, and had accidentally created the blend of magic and cloned life that would eventually be named Gellica.

I grabbed the top notebook, and one of the tapes, and shoved them into my coat pockets. Any more than that and it would be noticeable. And I suddenly very much wanted to leave the rig site without being searched.

Glancing around the office one last time, I moved back through the hall, and toward the front door. Hand outstretched, I froze.

Footsteps in the hall. I’d been seen by multiple people, and Dinah had said she’d been told I was on-site. I had to assume that Vandie knew I was there, and that Dinah had mentioned that I was headed to her barracks. I had precious few moments.

I retreated, heading for one of the back rooms. With no time to plan, I grabbed a magazine off the table, and stood near one of the chairs. If I was spotted, I’d claim that I was waiting on Vandie. Of course, I’d have to sell that to Vandie’s crew of roughnecks working security. And if I failed? It wouldn’t be the first time a dispute was settled by leaving a body to freeze on the ice plains.

32

I STOOD IN THE DARKENED LIVING room, as the door unlocked, then opened. Light from the passageway spilled inside, disappearing when the door closed. Footsteps, light and quick. No hesitation or subterfuge. It was either Vandie, or someone familiar with the layout. The steps moved down the hall, toward the kitchenette and converted living area.

I was still pressed against the wall, magazine in hand. I considered making a break for it, but the clattering sound from the bedroom froze me in my tracks. It was the sound of items being desperately thrown into boxes. It wasn’t the behavior of a property manager coming home after a long day’s work, even if they used to own the place.

Listening to the intruder move around, I was barely aware of cobwebs drifting across my face. I reached to brush them away, but they stuck to my hand, entwining around the flesh of my palm and thumb, hooking on the air where my missing two fingers should have been. The buzzing roar of a distant crowd screaming itself hoarse began to build, filling my ears. The threads were fat with power, connections of next gen manna that drifted through the air. There was an overwhelming urge to reach out and pluck the string, a spider inviting a fly into the parlor. My stomach gurgled. I wondered when I’d eaten last. I forced my hands to still, to leave the threads intact, untouched and uneaten. Focusing on my breathing, I stood rooted to the ground.

A dozen heartbeats was all it took, then footsteps returned, coming back down the hall from the office. I remained motionless, back pressed into the bookshelf, knickknacks and old photos and industrial safety manuals digging into my spine. The footsteps once again passed by quickly, now accompanied by the sound of bulky items shifting in a container. The rhythm interrupted, jumbled, as if someone were transferring a burdensome load to another arm. The doorknob turned. Light spilled across the entryway, and then it was dark again. Whoever had been there was now gone.

I emerged and headed down the hall to the back bedroom. One of the suitcases had been overturned, and its clothes dumped on the bed. I didn’t see the suitcase itself. But something else was missing. The reel-to-reel player, tapes, and notebooks were gone. I let out a string of quiet curses. The missing items clearly weren’t going to go unnoticed, and as far as anyone knew, I was the last person who had been let inside.

Had that been Vandie coming to her own apartment? Had she sent someone else? Or had it been a theft? I didn’t know if I had to sprint out of there or not. I scratched my chin, contemplating. I’d taken some