Broken

by Kelley Armstrong

  We laid out a spread of bagels with cheese, blintzes and fruit in Jeremy's room as we talked things over.

  "So you guys could probably use some on-scene necro help to deal with the zombies," Jaime said.

  "This might be more than you bargained for," Jeremy warned her. "Did you get a notice about the cholera on the plane? That appears to be connected. And the reason I called you last night was to say that these zombies aren't as easy to kill as we thought. This might not be the sort of thing you want to get involved in."

  She managed a smile. "Because I have a bad habit of needing rescue every time I do get involved?"

  "There is that," Clay muttered.

  Jaime waved me off before I could jump in. "Clay's right. My track record sucks. I always end up playing damsel-in-distress."

  "No," Jeremy said. "You've had some bad luck, but only because your skills made you a target."

  "And the bad guys love to pick on the defenseless necromancer. This time, though, I swear I won't get kidnapped or possessed."

  The corners of Jeremy's mouth twitched. "All right, then. If you're sure you want to--"

  "I do."

  "Then I'd welcome the help."

  Antonio, Nick and I chimed in with our agreement, but Jaime's gaze swept past us to Clay.

  "Long as you're here, you might as well stay," he said. "Hang around and do your stuff until we can use you."

  "What Clay means is--" I began.

  "Exactly what he said," she said. "If Clayton says I can stay, I feel almost welcome. Now, let's talk about zombies."

  "Controlled zombies," she said after I finished. "Don't ask me how that's possible, but that has to be the answer. Remember I said I'd make some calls? Well, I didn't find out much that seemed helpful at the time, but I did learn a few things about controlled dimensional zombies. Like ones controlled by a necromancer, they can't be killed until that control is severed. Instead of just staying alive, though, they disintegrate, and their soul returns to the dimensional holding tank. If the door's still open..."

  "They walk back out."

  "Logically, these shouldn't be controlled zombies. But if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck...It would also explain why that one at the truck stop was so quick to follow you."

  "His controller sent him after me," I said.

  "Right. The controller must want the letter back, and he's convinced the zombies that getting it will benefit them."

  "Would they need that incentive?" Jeremy said.

  "It would help. Zombies have to do what their controller says, but they do a better job when properly motivated."

  "Like any worker," Antonio said.

  Jaime smiled. "Exactly. They still have conscious will, if not free will."

  I pushed off the end of the bed and crossed the room to stretch my legs...and get another peach. "But we're back to the original problem with the controller theory. The portal was created a hundred and twenty years ago. To still be alive, that sorcerer would need to have found the secret to immortality, which, unless I'm mistaken, is unlikely to the point of impossible."

  "Could something like that be passed on generationally?" Jeremy asked.

  "Like 'I hereby bequeath control of my zombies to my son'?" She paused. "I suppose it's possible."

  I nodded. "If so, then it would also make sense to pass on the portal itself...or the device that contains it."

  "Patrick Shanahan?" Clay said.

  Jeremy nodded, and explained who Shanahan was.

  "Shanahan could be it," Jaime said. "If his grandfather commissioned the theft, it could have been to get his own portal back."

  "It would be more likely to be a great-grandfather," Jeremy mused. "Or even great-great, given the timing."

  "Maybe he was Jack the Ripper," Nick said. "The great-grandfather."

  I waved my half-eaten peach at him. "So he created the portal, with the zombies, and sent it to the police, knowing it would go into the files. Then, if the police started getting close, he could just release his zombies--"

  "Who could destroy the evidence," Jaime said. "The ultimate inside job."

  "Only the police never did get close, so he emigrates to Canada. At some point, his son or grandson, Theodore Shanahan, hires a local thief to get the letter back."

  "Yes," Jeremy said. "It makes sense, but there are too many--"

  "Creative jumps and leaps of faith," I finished. "I know. Regardless of how the portal could have been created, Patrick Shanahan is the best, if not the only possible, zombie controller."

  "If there is a controller," Clay said. "But no harm hunting the guy down."

  "That part you don't mind," I said, grinning as I gave him half my handful of blueberries. "Let's just hope he hasn't hightailed it to parts unknown."

  "Can't," Jaime said. "When the zombies are resurrected at the portal, they return to him. Like homing pigeons. So the controller has to stay close by."

  "There's our plan, then," I said. "We find one of the zombies, then kill him, and someone waits at the portal to follow him back to his controller."

  Rats

  KILL A ZOMBIE, THEN FOLLOW HIM OR HER BACK TO THE controller. Sounded simple enough. Or it would be, once we found a zombie to kill.

  Jeremy decided we'd wait until nightfall, then return to the warehouse district where we'd found Rose. She'd obviously been comfortable there, so she might return. Even if we couldn't find a zombie, we were pretty sure one would eventually find me.

  In the meantime, Jeremy and Antonio would return to Shanahan's house, this time searching for clues not about the letter, but about Shanahan's current whereabouts. Clay, Nick and I would visit the person most likely to have had contact with Shanahan--his secretary.

  While Antonio and Nick checked in and unpacked, I helped Jaime do the same. She'd already booked a room, but it was two floors from ours, so Jeremy insisted she switch to the same floor. Changing rooms was easy enough--with the cholera outbreak, the concierge told us half of their reservations had been canceled, and a lot of current guests had decided to cut their visit short.

  Clay brought Jaime's luggage over from our room, then left us to unpack. Or he pretended to leave, though I knew he'd stay close, probably in the hallway.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Jaime wilted against the wall.

  "Made a complete jackass of myself, didn't I?" she said.

  "What do you mean?" I said as I stooped to unzip her suitcase.

  "I'll get that," she said. "Sounds like you'll have a busy day. Sit while you can."

  When I hesitated, she took the suitcase and shooed me to the bed.

  "I do want to do a Toronto show," she said as she took out her toiletry bag. "I wasn't making that up."

  "I never--"

  She slanted a look my way. "Come on. I show up with some lame story about wanting to check out show venues, and the first thing you all thought was 'Yeah, right.' But it's true. I plan to do a winter appearance, and I need to check out places. I thought this would be a good time to do that if it means I can help you guys with this. Help all of you." Another quick look at me. "Not just Jeremy."

  "I don't think you showed up because of Jeremy."

  "Well, that makes one of us." She sighed and hung a dress in the closet. "I do want to help, but if it had been someone else? Would I have been on that plane so fast?" She shook her head and took a shirt from her suitcase. "I'm trying to get past it. It's embarrassing."

  "Being attracted to someone isn't a cause for embarrassment."

  She gave me a look. "Tripping over my feet every time I see him? Tripping over my tongue every time I talk to him? For three years? With no sign that he's the least bit interested in return?"

  "With Jeremy--"

  "I can't expect the usual signs, I know. But he has to know how I feel. Hell, everybody else does."

  "If you'd let me ask--"

  She waved her hands frantically. "Oh, God. Stop suggesting it or I'm liable to break down and say 'Go ahead.' Can you ima
gine? It's like in fifth grade, getting your friend to pass a guy a note asking if he likes you."

  "It wouldn't be--"

  She met my gaze. "Please, don't. I'm not being coy, pretending I don't want you to when really I'm hoping you'll go ahead and do it. Two years ago, maybe I would have. But now..." She dropped her gaze to the shirt in her hands, refolding it. "I'm starting to feel like, maybe, Jeremy and I, you know, can still be friends. As cliche as that sounds, it's not so bad."

  She took a deep breath, then firmly shook her head and hung up the shirt. "Once I get past that schoolgirl-flustered stage when I first see him, I'm okay, and I can talk to him. Better yet, he listens." A small smile. "Even talks in return sometimes."

  "That's a good sign. Listening Jeremy's good at. Talking? Not if it's remotely personal."

  "I know. And the stuff I can talk to him about..." When she grabbed a handful of shirts, her fingers were trembling slightly. "It's not stuff I normally talk about. I don't feel I have to be...I don't know, my showbiz self." She flashed a smile my way. "Who knows, maybe someday I'll even change his mind. Until then, though, it's good."

  I wished I could help. I really did. Two years ago, I hadn't been quick to encourage her. I'd liked Jaime well enough, but she didn't seem a good match for Jeremy. I still wasn't sure that she was, but I now thought she deserved the chance to find out.

  After Jaime finished unpacking, she took off to investigate potential venues for a future show. Clay, Nick and I got ready for our trip to Shanahan's office. While his administrative assistant wouldn't tell strangers where he was hiding, he or she might be persuaded to divulge a few details to a pair of urban professionals about to have their first baby and looking to make a very large investment to safeguard their child's future.

  "I'll play husband and daddy-to-be," Nick said as we walked into the room.

  "Yeah?" Clay said. "Well, not to complicate things, but how about the real husband and daddy-to-be plays the husband and daddy-to-be?"

  "Won't work. You don't look the part. You look like the actor hired to play the part."

  Clay made a rude noise and grabbed his wallet from the nightstand.

  I turned to Clay. "Since when do you ever want to playact anyway? If you do, then fine, but if you're just complaining for--"

  "Go ahead," Clay said. "Though I don't see how he looks any more like your husband than I do."

  "He doesn't. But if we're about to have our first baby and going to Shanahan for investment advice, we have to look and act like urban professionals. Nick does. I can. You...can't. And you'd hate trying. So let's stop arguing. We still need to do a quick bit of shopping. I only have two sets of clothes, and neither screams prospective investment banker client." I picked up my sunglasses, then glanced back at Clay. "Oh, and speaking of disguises, remember to lend Nick your ring."

  "Should I wear it?" Nick said. "If I'm wearing a wedding band and you're not, won't that look--"

  His gaze went to my hand and he stopped, then grabbed it and lifted the ring finger, complete with both engagement and wedding ring. I'd worn the engagement ring on and off for years, and "on" for the past five, a sign to Clay that I was staying.

  As for the wedding bands, while he'd worn his for fifteen years, to show that he considered himself married--whether I agreed or not--my own had stayed in the original case.

  "When did you start wearing--?" Nick began.

  "When I got pregnant. Though I may have to stop wearing it soon. It's getting tight."

  "Ah." Nick smiled and dropped my hand. "Didn't want to walk around looking pregnant and unwed. I'll lay dibs on how fast that comes off once the baby's here."

  I reached for the door handle. "It's not."

  Clay grabbed the door and opened it for me. Nick jumped forward and pushed it shut again.

  "Whoa, hold on. You're going to keep wearing it? Even after the baby?"

  "What? You think I'm willing to have Clay's baby, but not wear his ring?" I grinned at Clay. "We're even thinking of making it legal."

  "Wha--? Married? What happened to 'not in this lifetime, no way, no how'?"

  "Did I say that?"

  Clay opened the door. "More than once."

  "Damn."

  "But I won't hold you to it."

  "Good of you."

  "Wait a second," Nick said. "When did all this--?"

  The closing of the door drowned out the rest as we headed into the hall.

  Shanahan's secretary wasn't talking, but when we "suggested" taking our baby investment elsewhere, she admitted that he called in daily for messages. We gave her my cell phone number and Nick's. If Shanahan was the zombie's controller--and the one giving the orders to kidnap me--then if his secretary announced he'd had a visit from a blond pregnant woman, anxious to speak to him, he might make the logical leap. In fact, he probably would. All the better. With any luck, the opportunity to set up a meeting and catch me would prove irresistible.

  Jeremy and Antonio's search of Shanahan's house hadn't revealed anything that would tell us where he was. They'd gathered a few leads--his ex-wife's address, restaurants he liked to frequent, the name of his golf club and such. Chances were that a guy on the run isn't going to pop by the club for a round, but unless we came up with something better, they'd check it out tomorrow.

  After dinner, the Pack headed to the warehouse district where we'd first found Rose. It was barely dusk, but the area was empty enough that we didn't need to wait until nightfall. Jeremy wanted us to try hooking up with Zoe at Miller's again. She hadn't called, maybe because she didn't plan to or maybe because she hadn't remembered anything, but she was now our best source of information on the Shanahan family. First, though, we'd hunt for Rose.

  We found her trail easily enough. Found a whole snarl of them, so many that it was difficult to tell whether any of them were fresh.

  To untangle the mess, Jeremy split us up into two teams. He assigned Nick, Clay and me the west side of the area.

  The second tendril we followed led to the side door of an empty building plastered with yellowed and curling club vertigo coming soon signs. One look at the building, with its boarded-up windows and spidery cracks in the foundation, and I could have predicted to the hopeful club owners that their dream would never see fruition, buried under a mountain of astronomical contractor quotes. Or maybe the owners hadn't been as enthusiastically naive as they seemed. Schemes for new clubs were great cons for bilking youthful investors.

  At the doorway, Clay stopped, then bent for a better sniff of the ground.

  "Got an exit trail too," he said. "Been and gone."

  I looked around to make sure no one was passing either end of the alley, then crouched and inhaled.

  "More than one 'been and gone,' " I said.

  "Could be her hideout," Nick said. "Can we get inside?"

  Before I could answer, Clay did. "We should get Jeremy and Antonio first."

  "Never thought I'd hear you say that," Nick said.

  "Gotta be careful these days."

  Nick looked over at me--at my stomach--then nodded. "I'll run and grab them."

  We stayed just inside the doorway until our eyes adjusted to the dark. The only source of light was the ribbons of moonlight peeking through the planks covering the windows. Even after our eyes adjusted, we could see little more than shapes.

  "Should we Change?" I whispered to Jeremy.

  He peered inside. "I think it'll be easier to search like this for now."

  "Split up, then?"

  Jeremy nodded. "We'll stay on this floor. You three take the north side. Meet back here when you're done."

  The search was slow-going. Rose's scent permeated the place. Her trails seemed to crisscross in and out of every room, and there were plenty of rooms to crisscross through. From the outside, the place had looked like a warehouse, but in here it was a warren of small rooms, as if it had been converted to offices at some point before its decline. Searching as wolves would have been near-impossible. Turning door ha
ndles with your teeth is a real bitch.

  We reached a closed door where the floor was thick with scent trails. I stood watch while Nick threw open the door and Clay wheeled through.

  A muffled oath. Nick and I both rushed to Clay's aid. My foot hit a rotted board and I pitched forward. Nick lunged for me, and Clay turned, but my ankle twisted and I went down onto my knees before either could grab me.

  As I fell, I sent up a cloud of dust that launched a sneezing fit. I pressed my hands over my mouth and nose to stifle it.

  Clay knelt beside me. "You okay?"

  "Just klutzy," I said. "And that, sadly, I can't even blame on being pregnant." I swallowed an impending sneeze. "Now that I've alerted anyone in here to our presence--"

  Something hissed beside me. I turned to see a rat, reared up, teeth bared. Animals smelling their first werewolf usually run, but city rats can lose their natural fear of predators. This one opened his mouth to hiss again. Clay's foot caught it in the chest, and it flew across the hall and hit the wall with a splat.

  "Touchdown!" Nick said.

  Clay only curled his lip.

  "Never did like rats much, did you?" Nick said.

  "Disease-ridden vermin," Clay said. "Worse than scavengers. The room's crawling with them. Must be a nest."

  Another rat peered out the partly open door, its nose twitching. Then it charged. Clay drop-kicked it into the wall beside its brethren.

  "Next one's mine," Nick said.

  "Sorry, guys," I said as I stood. "As much fun as rat-punting might be, we--"

  I stopped and inhaled. Another rat appeared in the doorway. Nick drew back his foot. I flew forward and knocked the rat back into the room, then slammed the door.

  "What, only Clay gets to punt rats?" Nick said.

  Clay shrugged. "With me, it's not animal cruelty. It's my nature. You don't get that excuse."

  Nick sputtered and took a swipe at Clay with his foot, trying to hook the back of his knees. Clay grabbed Nick's foot and Nick started toppling backward, but I grabbed him.

  "Are you guys trying to make sure Rose will hear us if she's here? I closed the door because there's something wrong with those rats. Can't you smell it?"

  Nick only shook his head, but Clay walked to the dead ones, hunkered down, sniffed, then made a face.