Broken

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Oh, I bet you can," she said with a lilting laugh. She laid a hand on Nick's arm. "I appreciate the offer, but I worked it out long ago." She flashed a smile my way. "I'm willing to extend the same offer to anyone who hasn't."

  I touched my belly. "I think I've worked it out too."

  Zoe started to respond, but was cut short.

  "Dr. Danvers," a voice called from halfway across the cafeteria.

  Clay didn't turn. Maybe he was intentionally ignoring the hail. More likely, he was so unaccustomed to the form of address that he didn't recognize it.

  A heavyset young man appeared at our table, smiling at Clay, his hand extended. Clay hesitated--he hates physical contact with outsiders--but the pause lasted only a second before he took the student's hand in a firm, if brief, shake.

  "Are you teaching next term?" the young man asked. "I didn't see your name on the schedule."

  "Just visiting."

  "Damn. I didn't get a chance to tell you how much I enjoyed your lectures. That's exactly what I'm interested in, and I've read all your--" He stopped, flushed, then laughed. "Sorry. Academic fan boys--what geeks, huh? Anyway, I wanted to thank you for the comments you made on my paper. I really appreciated the encouragement."

  Clay's gaze slid my way. I only smiled.

  "Oh, and it's Mrs. Danvers, right? I remember you from class." He looked down at my stomach. "Don't remember that, though. Congratulations."

  "Thanks," I said. "And I read your paper too. It was great. Clayton will have some competition in a few years."

  The young man blushed again, thanked us, then hurried off after imparting a warning to be careful. "Not a good time to visit Toronto," he said. "Weird things happening."

  When he was gone, Clay looked at me.

  "Comments on his paper?" he said.

  "You said it was very good. Damn good, and he shows a lot of promise. So I wrote it down--without the damn."

  "I gave him an A. That's not enough?"

  "Comments help."

  "Comments won't get him into grad school."

  "Hard-ass."

  Zoe had followed our volleys with a half-open mouth. When we stopped, she said, "Doctor? Please tell me he was kidding."

  "He was kidding," Clay said. "Now, you called us here--"

  "You're a professor? In...what?"

  "Phys ed. You called us here--"

  She sighed and waved for us to sit. Clay and I grabbed drinks from Nick's tray. There were two left.

  Zoe laughed. "Didn't want to be rude, I see."

  "I wasn't sure," Nick said. "Do you...drink?"

  She took a bottle. "If it's cold, I will. It gets terribly uncomfortable in the summer when you can't sweat...and when your food only comes warm."

  Clay made a noise in his throat.

  "Oh, stop growling. I'm getting to business." She paused. "Weren't we supposed to be doing this over lunch?"

  "We just ate," Clay said. "Besides, you don't."

  She waggled a finger at him. "Don't be racist. Vampires are civilized beasts, just like you--" She looked over at Nick and me. "Like you two. As such, we enjoy social customs such as shared meals...even if we can't actually share them."

  "This is a cafeteria." Clay pointed at her water bottle. "Consider that lunch."

  "Come on," I said. "We'll start walking, see if we find someplace to eat."

  We headed out to University Avenue.

  "Theodore Shanahan did commission the theft himself, directly through me," Zoe said as we walked along the shaded sidewalk. "And it was for that particular letter. He was very specific. No substitutions allowed."

  She took a sip of her water before continuing. "I remember that because I always ask. If I arrive on the site and realize that the piece they want isn't accessible--has been removed, etcetera--I want to know whether the buyer will accept a second piece from the same collection, at a discount, of course."

  "Shanahan said no."

  "Emphatically no. It was the From Hell letter or none at all. That stipulation almost made me turn down the job. Traveling to England was hardly an overnight jaunt in those days. Imagine getting all that way only to discover they'd pulled the letter from the file. When I raised that concern, Shanahan promised that if that happened, he would cover all my travel expenses and pay me for my time."

  "So he really wanted that letter. What--"

  "El--Darling?" Clay cut in, nudging me.

  When I glanced over, he flared his nostrils. Sniff. I did, and caught the faint scent of rot on a crosswind, coming from the southwest--behind us and to our right, probably across the road.

  "Knew they'd take the bait sooner or later," I said. "Zoe? One of my zombie stalkers has caught up with me, so we need to cut this conversation short. Can I call you later?"

  "Is that a subtle 'get lost'?"

  "If you glance to your right, you'll probably see someone seriously overdressed for the weather."

  "Oh, I'm sure you were telling the truth about the stalker. I meant the part about telling me to take off."

  "Natural antipathy or not, this one wants me. But if he does go after you, we'll get him."

  "That's very sweet, but antipathy works both ways." She flashed her teeth. "Been a long time since I met a zombie."

  "Forget it," Clay said. "If we need more from you, we'll call."

  "Oh-ho, so that's how it works, professor? I give, you take?"

  "No, you give us information, we give you a zombie-free city." Clay jerked his chin at Nick and me. "Come on."

  I offered an apologetic shrug and half-smile to Zoe, but like Clay, I had no desire to let a stranger join our hunt. Even Nick's murmured "sorry" was halfhearted.

  "How long has it been since you actually lived in Toronto?" Zoe called as we started to walk away.

  I turned and frowned.

  "A few years, I'll bet," Zoe continued. "And this--" she waved a hand across the scene before us, construction zones everywhere, "--probably doesn't look very familiar. But it is to me. This is where I make my living, and I know every back alley, every shortcut, every hiding place."

  "We'll manage," Clay said, fingers closing around my arm.

  "With your superhuman sense of smell? Works great in the forest, I'm sure. Or in a quiet neighborhood. But here? Take a good sniff, professor. Smog, exhaust, roofing tar. It would help to have someone who doesn't need scent to track."

  I looked at Clay, but his gaze had moved on, scanning the street. He was considering Zoe's words but, even more, looking for the zombie, knowing that every moment we stood here arguing was a moment in which our pursuer could decide this wasn't a good time or place to attack.

  "Do what you want," he said finally. "Just stay out of our way."

  The problem now was where to lead the zombie so we could kill him. We were downtown in the middle of a workday. I suggested returning to the university campus.

  "Too open." Clay squinted up the street. "The museum would be good. An enclosed building, probably not too busy with this cholera thing. There'd be lots of quiet places for you to lure him into."

  "But then you have the problem of admission," I said. "I doubt he carries much walking-around money."

  "If that's the only problem, you're in luck today," Zoe said. "All the cultural centers are offering free admission for the rest of the week. A tourism bonus in light of the water problems. I was going to visit the art gallery this afternoon, to check out a few business opportunities."

  "The museum it is," Clay said.

  We headed for the Royal Ontario Museum, just a block up University. As we walked, I called Antonio and told him we had one of the zombies in our sights. He and Jeremy would hightail it to Cabbagetown to await delivery.

  I hung up as we reached the front steps, then I realized Clay was no longer beside me, but a dozen feet back, glowering at a construction board.

  He waved at the board. "What the hell are they doing to the museum?"

  "A total overhaul," I said. "Creating a revitalized cultural an
d architectural landmark for Toronto."

  "Overhaul? From that picture, it'll look like it was hit by a goddamn glacier."

  "I know," Zoe said. "Isn't it gorgeous? Did you see the front? They're going to have the dinosaurs right there, so you can see them from the street. Wonderful. Although, if they're going to put artifacts in the window, I'd personally prefer something more portable."

  Clay shook his head and strode up the museum steps.

  Once inside, we split up. Past experience told us our zombie friends wouldn't come out while I was surrounded by bodyguards, though Clay would stay with me for as long as possible.

  We'd barely made it to the second-floor landing when my phone vibrated. I checked the display. Nick.

  "She's coming," he said when I answered.

  "She?"

  "Think so. Zoe says it's a she. Hard to tell under all that clothing."

  "Be on the lookout for her partner then," I said. "They've played this game with us before."

  "Tag-team stalking."

  "Exactly."

  When I hung up, Clay said, "Rose?"

  I nodded.

  "Shit." He glanced at the exit, frown deepening to a scowl.

  "You'd prefer a knife-wielding thug to an aging hooker?"

  "Hooker with syphilis. Remember what Jeremy said?" He looked around, scouting the territory. "Change of plans. I'll be the bait. She's seen me with you enough to know I'd be just as good a source for that letter. If I'm easier to nab than you--"

  I shook my head. "Unless her brain's rotting with the rest of her, she's never going to think you'd be easier to nab than me. I'll be careful. You know I will. I'll avoid her mouth and scrub up afterward. Better yet, I'll knock her down and wait for you. Minimal contact."

  After a moment, he nodded and we headed for the stairs.

  We bypassed the busier second floor--home of the kid-friendly dinosaur and natural history displays. In the third-floor Islam gallery, we settled in for some museum browsing, which was one act I didn't need to fake. Fifteen years with an anthropologist has made me a bit of a museum geek.

  Clay always finds an artifact that catches his eye, usually with a great story attached. When we visit a city, Clay will snore through opera and jazz concerts, stake out a bench in the art gallery, even fall asleep during eardrum-shattering Broadway musicals...but don't ask him to leave town before he's visited every museum.

  I used to wonder how a guy who wants little to do with humans can be so fascinated by their history. I understand now that the two attitudes aren't mutually exclusive. Human society is foreign to Clay and, therefore, all the more fascinating, if only from a scientific point of view. Like an anthropologist studying apes, he finds the structure intriguing, but he has no desire to join it.

  We wove through the Islam gallery, through Rome, and back to the Greek areas in the southwest corner. There, we split up a few times, one of us wandering off to look at something, conveniently rounding a corner and getting out of the other's sight. Yet Rose didn't strike. Nor did Nick phone to say she'd backed off. Every once in a while, I detected a whiff of rot on the air-conditioning, confirming she was nearby. There was no sign of the bowler-hatted man, though.

  We wove through a forest of armless, legless, emasculated marble male torsos. I stopped in the corner, behind a raised scale model display of the acropolis of Athens.

  "Either she's waiting for her partner or she's waiting for us to give her a better shot," I said. "You know the place as well as I do. Where's a safe place to take someone down?"

  As his eyes half-closed, I could almost see the floor plan of the museum flipping past them, his brain ticking off every place he could kill someone or hide a body. A discomfiting skill, but I knew it came from that part of his brain that instinctively assessed danger and mapped out escape routes in any new environment. When it came to randomly killing strangers and stashing the bodies, there were few werewolves less likely to do it than Clay.

  "That's the public areas," he said after he'd recited the list. "You want the labs and stuff too?"

  "Uh, no, that's okay. Just don't ever invite me to the museum after we've had a fight, okay?"

  He snorted. "I think I'd be the one more likely to be knocked over the head and stuffed in a sarcophagus."

  "Never," I said. "They're all behind glass. Lousy place to hide a body. But there's a really big vase over there that might work."

  He growled and swung to grab me. I sidestepped just as a mother and two kids walked in.

  "Speaking of sarcophagi," I whispered. "I think it's time to move on to the Nile."

  Clay nodded and followed me out.

  Pursuits

  WE CHECKED OUT THE EGYPTIAN WING, BUT DECIDED IT was too busy for Rose, so we crossed the floor to the Samuel European Gallery, and walked through the rotunda, then turned right.

  The south wing was semidark, with tasteful spot lighting illuminating decorated rooms from various periods. A corridor about ten feet wide wended through the gallery, with lots of twists and curves, so you couldn't see more than two or three glassed-in rooms at a time. Alcoves and doors were everywhere. Even on the busiest days, the wing was quiet. Today, it was empty. Perfect.

  We stopped by a well-marked emergency exit near what looked like a large storage closet. Even a zombie had to recognize an ideal kidnapping opportunity when she saw it. Then it came time to separate. If Rose was looking for that ideal opportunity, we were going to give it to her, making sure she knew Clay was leaving, and might be gone for a few minutes.

  Clay asked for my cell phone.

  "Gotta call work," he said, speaking just above a normal conversational tone. "See how that department meeting went."

  I handed him my phone. He didn't have one--a cell phone presupposes a desire to communicate with the outside world.

  He hit the buttons, pretended to listen, then grunted, looked at the display and said, "No signal."

  "It's these old buildings," I said. "The walls are too thick. Try moving closer to the stairwell."

  Before he left, he circled his lips with his finger, then pointed the finger at me, reminding me to stay away from Rose's mouth. I nodded. He walked away, head down as he redialed. I turned to examine a room done in French Regency, all gilt and ornate tapestry. On a pedestal stood a bust of a toga-wearing man who, judging by his expression, had lived in a time that predated laxatives.

  Behind me, Clay circled the first corner. "Yeah, it's me. How--?" He muttered a curse. "Hold on." His voice drifted farther. "There? Can you hear me now? Christ, the echo in this place. How did the meeting go?"

  A split-second pause. "Hold on. I've lost you. I'll move..."

  As his footsteps headed in the direction of the rotunda, his voice faded under the soft strains of piped-in classical music. Okay, Rose, it's not going to get any better than this. Here, I'll even bend over to read this placard, so you can--

  A growl, half-anger, half-surprise off to my left. The clatter of the cell phone dropping and skating across the hard floor.

  Even as I turned and ran for Clay, my brain told me I was overreacting, that he'd probably just bumped into something or someone. But my gut knew better.

  As I ran, I heard a thump, then a grunt. Another thump--harder, like a body hitting the floor. I rounded two corners, then saw Clay pinning a figure to the floor beside twin display cases of silver tableware.

  It was Rose. She held a knife in one hand, but he had her by the wrist, so the weapon was useless. His other hand reached for her head, to snap her neck.

  "The swords!" a child's voice shrieked. "I want to see the swords!"

  Running footsteps sounded at the mouth of the gallery. Arms and armor were on the opposite side, but Clay hesitated, listening. As he turned, he saw me. I motioned for him to wait.

  The footfalls screeched around the corner, heading our way. The child's parents tried calling him back, but he was too far to hear or too excited to care.

  Clay pulled back and looked around, still holding
Rose's knife hand, but his attention was elsewhere, searching for a place to move her before the child came racing around the corner.

  "There!" I hissed, pointing at a gap between two displays. "I'll head off--"

  Rose bucked. The knife flashed and, although Clay still held her wrist, he instinctively dodged, loosening his grip just enough for her to wrench free. As she scrambled up, I raced around to cut off her escape route. Clay dove for her. Then two kids, no more than seven or eight, turned the corner and stopped dead, gazes fixed, not on us, but on the knife-wielding woman rising before them, her face like something out of their most macabre comic books. One screamed.

  Rose raced past me. Clay tore after her.

  "It's--we were rehearsing," I said quickly. "A play. She's dressed up."

  I wanted to say more, but once Clay realized I wasn't behind him, he would stop chasing Rose. And, to be honest, I wasn't sure I wanted to be around when the parents found their terrified children. So, with a weak smile, I scooped up my cell phone from the floor and hurried after him.

  I caught up as Clay reached the stair landing. He'd stopped there and was looking back, ready to return for me. I waved him on, but he didn't move until I'd caught up.

  Rose was hurrying down the stairs, disappearing then reappearing from behind the huge Haida and Nisga'a totem poles that rose up the center of the circling stairs. I touched Clay's arm.

  "Hold back," I whispered. "Let her think she's lost us."

  He nodded, and let me nudge him back into the shadows, but kept his gaze fixed on Rose as she descended.

  "She ambushed me," he whispered.

  "Guess her brain is rotting after all."

  "Or she was getting me out of the way first. Learning our routines."

  "Possible. Where the heck is her partner?"

  "Don't know, but I'm keeping my eyes open."

  I touched his forearm, to tell him we could start forward. When I pulled back my fingers, they were wet with blood. I grabbed his arm for a better look, but he pulled away.

  "Just a scratch."

  "She stabbed--?"

  He shook his head as he propelled me to the steps. "Her nails." He swiped away the blood, then started down the steps.

  Rose hit the second-floor landing. I expected her to carry on down the stairs and run for the exit. Instead, she hurried toward the museum's most popular exhibit: the dinosaurs.