Broken

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Can I quote you on that?"

  She laughed. "Like to see you try. Speaking of tips, I've got a few you can have. The crackpots are really coming out of the woodwork on this one. Just this morning we had a guy report seeing a walking corpse downtown."

  "The core is pretty dead these days."

  Rita snorted a laugh. "Unbelievable. Take a heat wave, add a health scare and people's common sense takes a holiday. Zombies, killer rats, signs of the apocalypse...I'm just waiting for someone to say they've spotted sasquatches on Spadina. Or vampires in the Don Valley."

  I glanced over at the table, where Zoe was sipping a mimosa. "I'd believe vampires."

  "I'm sure you would. Listen, someone's waving me into a meeting. Give me a call later. I want to get together before you leave town." Her hand went over the mouthpiece as she yelled a muffled "hold on," then came back to me. "Gotta run. You take care. And watch out for those vampires."

  "I will."

  As I hung up, I sensed something, and turned to see Clay coming up the steps.

  "Back up to bed," I said. "You heard the doctor."

  "Yeah, and he also said to eat. At this rate, I'd have starved before you brought breakfast."

  "Clay, please..."

  He stepped beside me, hand dipping to mine. "I'll go nuts in bed, darling. You know that. I'll just take it easy."

  I hesitated, then nodded, and we headed over to the table, where everyone was laughing as Jaime regaled them with a story.

  "--and I've seen fake tears before, but these were so bad the entire crew was snorting, trying not to laugh. So the woman's wailing her heart out, practically rolling on the stage, and the ghost says--" She saw us and stopped.

  "Is everything okay?" she asked Clay. "You look okay."

  "I am," he said, pulling out a chair for me. "Just an infection. Fever's gone; doc dosed me up. I'm fine. But we need to get this woman food." His grin broke through. "Seems she's eating for three."

  Congratulations ensued, infused with shock from all but one person at the table, though he tried to feign it.

  I turned to Antonio. "You knew, didn't you? Jeremy told you."

  A small smile. "He said he suspected--"

  I waved off the rest. "Payback for the conspiracy later. First, food."

  I looked at Nick's plate.

  He moved it out of my reach. "It's a buffet. All you can eat, no waiting. I'll even get it for you." He pushed his chair back. "Just don't touch mine while I'm gone."

  I reached for Nick's plate, but Clay beat me to it, snagging two pieces of bacon and handing me one as he sat down.

  "Jaime was just telling us about a show she did last month." Zoe poked the back of my hand. "You were keeping her hidden from me, weren't you?" She caught my look. "No, I don't mean that way. I meant--Jaime Vegas, spiritualist extraordinaire."

  "Zoe's a fan," Nick said as he set a heaping plate in front of me.

  "Big fan," Zoe said. "I was telling her that I know someone who's an even bigger fan. Producer friend of mine. I used to do some work for him when he was starting out in Toronto--needed equipment but couldn't quite afford to pay retail. He's in L.A. now, and he just got the go-ahead to do a TV special next year. They're going to try to contact Marilyn Monroe, find out how she died. Huge, splashy production." She looked at Jaime. "It'd be a blast. You know it would."

  Jaime laughed. "Cheesy as hell. Right up my alley."

  "So is that a yes?"

  "It's a maybe."

  We brought Zoe up to date on the killing the night before.

  Zoe tapped her nails against her champagne flute. "You know, I might be able to round up a witness for you. Not sure how much good it would do, but if you're waiting around for Randy to call back anyway..."

  "A witness? Working girl?"

  "No, a supernatural who haunts--and hunts--in that neighborhood."

  Nick leaned forward. "I thought you were the only vampire in Toronto."

  "This isn't a vamp. Or a were. She's...well, we're not quite sure what she is, but--"

  A cell phone rang. At the first note, Jaime, Zoe, Nick, Antonio and I all jumped, ready to grab ours. Clay rolled his eyes and muttered something about electronic leashes. As the tone began, I said, "That's mine."

  "Never even got the damned thing back in your pocket."

  "It's...oh, it's Anita Barrington."

  Clay growled and went to pluck the phone from me, but I pulled it out of his reach.

  "Don't answer--" he began.

  Too late. A minute later, I hung up.

  "Let me guess," Jaime said. "She has urgent information and wants to come over right away."

  "Nah," Clay said. "She's back to wanting us to go there."

  "But it is urgent, as always," Nick said, sneaking a wedge of cantaloupe from Clay's plate. "She did sound pretty freaked out, though."

  "How did you guys--?" Jaime began. "Oh, enhanced hearing, right? Nice trick."

  "Just be sure you never whisper anything in front of them," Zoe said. "So what's up with Anita?"

  "She won't say. Just that it's extremely urgent this time, and she has critical information we absolutely must have right away, because we're making a very big mistake."

  "Uh-huh. So, when you said you'll be there, you were just blowing her off, right?"

  "That's up to Jeremy. And here he comes now, with Matthew Hull in tow."

  Zoe sipped her mimosa. "If you want, we can pop by Anita's place on the way to visit that friend of mine. She lives near there."

  "Thought you wanted to steer clear of Anita Barrington," Clay said.

  "Steering clear of a curious old woman is one thing. But an immortality-questing witch who's obsessed enough to tackle werewolves? Time to put a face to a name before I end up on the wrong end of a binding spell."

  Jeremy sent us to see Anita, but with Antonio and Nick in tow for backup. When we arrived, the beaded curtain was still drawn over the front display, the sign proclaiming the shop closed. We knocked there, rang the bell for the apartment and even found--and banged on--the rear door. No answer.

  Antonio broke open the back door.

  "Do you want me to wait out here with Elena?" Zoe whispered.

  Clay shook his head. "Nick?"

  "I'll stay with the ladies."

  Ten minutes later, Clay and Antonio came out.

  "She's gone," Antonio said. "We found traces of blood--"

  I pushed past Clay and went inside. Clay waved Nick around to cover the front, while Antonio stayed and watched the back door. Zoe came in with us.

  The shop was dark and quiet. I flipped on a light.

  "Tiny place," Zoe said, checking behind the counter. "Where's the--?"

  She inhaled and turned, following the blood beacon over to a display table. Beside it was not "traces" of blood, but a pool of it, covering several tiles. To the left was a sneaker print--large and wide, probably male.

  As I crouched beside the blood, I bumped heads with Zoe.

  "Sorry," she said. "Just getting a better look."

  I sniffed, then looked up at Clay. "It's hers." I turned to Zoe. "Would that much blood loss be...?"

  "Fatal?" She studied the pool. "It's probably only a pint. Not fatal, but...well, you don't lose that much with a paper cut."

  As I pushed to my feet, I saw another bloody print a couple of feet away. A small handprint, almost certainly not belonging to the same person who'd left the footprint. To the left of the print was what I thought was a smear. Then I got closer and saw it was a line, drawn by a bloody finger. On one side of the top was a diagonal, as if someone had started drawing an arrow, then been interrupted.

  We followed the direction the arrow was pointing--the same as the outstretched handprint.

  As Zoe surveyed the overstuffed bookshelf, she swore under her breath. "Let me guess, there's a clue in one of those hundred books."

  "Forget it," Clay said. "No time for games."

  I examined the shelf. "How about a quick round of 'what in this p
icture doesn't belong?' "

  I reached down and took Anita's cookie plate off a stack of books. A folded piece of paper tucked under it fluttered to the floor.

  "Clever witch," Zoe murmured.

  I unfolded the note and read it with Clay looking over one shoulder, Zoe peering around the other.

  Elena,

  I know I should have delivered this message in person, but I don't dare. I'm an old woman and if I can't find the answers I seek, the least I can do is preserve what little time I have left. Patrick Shanahan has been here. He didn't get what he wanted, but he won't give up so easily. You need to know that--

  The ink smeared there, the pen sliding across the page. Then, below it, a hastily added line, the handwriting cramped and rushed.

  You are the key to the ritual and Patrick will say--do--anything to get to--

  The note ended there.

  We called Jeremy. After much discussion, he agreed Clay and I should push on and still visit Zoe's contact. He'd bring Jaime over to the bookstore, meet up with Antonio and Nick and see whether Jaime could figure out what had happened to Anita.

  Zoe led us along a shortcut behind a three-story walkup. Clay walked behind, on the lookout for rats. As we wove through the bags of garbage, steaming in the midday heat, I clapped my hand over my mouth and nose.

  "Sorry," Zoe said. "That must smell even worse to you. It'll be better inside." She paused. "Well, 'better' might not be the word. But it won't smell of garbage. Will you be okay?"

  I nodded. We came out on a street that straddled Cabbagetown and Regent Park. Like the portal street, this one was lined with Victorian homes, but these houses were like withered old ladies, traces of their former beauty still visible, but only if you strained to see past the signs of deterioration and decay.

  Good bones, a Realtor would say. Farther down the road, the process of gentrification had already begun, putting a pretty face on the old gals to entice urban professionals who dreamed of owning a historic home without the inconvenience of hissing steam radiators and push-button lights. Here, though, no such process had begun. These old gals sat tight, comfortable in their squalor and decay, glaring down the road at their uppity neighbors.

  "Here," Zoe said, swinging open a rusted gate that led into a yard of weeds.

  "So this woman...it's a woman, right?" I said as we trekked through the yard.

  "Umm, we think so."

  Zoe led us to the back of the house. She went to move an overloaded trash bin out of the way. Clay reached around and gave it a heave.

  "Watch your arm," I said.

  Zoe slid into the space left by the bin.

  "So this...woman," I said. "What is she?"

  Zoe knelt in front of a locked hatch. "We think she might be a clairvoyant. She seems to have some clairvoyant abilities, and the madness certainly fits that profile."

  "Madness?"

  Clay shrugged at me, as if to say, after dimensional portals, zombie servants and half-demon serial killers, he wouldn't have been surprised if Zoe was leading us down a hole to visit a white rabbit.

  "Clairvoyants," I continued. "They can't see the future, right? More...lateral sight. Seeing things that are happening in other places right now."

  "You got it." She undid the first combination lock on the hatch.

  "And what they see drives them crazy. But...how crazy are we talking?"

  Clay looked at me. "How crazy? They can't figure out her gender, darling."

  "Okay, stupid question. Does she have a name?"

  Zoe opened the second lock. "I'm sure she did. Once. We call her Tee. It's--" Her gaze dropped with her voice, as if embarrassed. "It's an abbreviation. Not my idea."

  The wooden hatch door was at least two feet by three, and when she tugged at it, she had to dig in her heels, her tiny frame straining with the effort. Clay leaned in and yanked it open.

  "Thanks, Professor. Quite the southern gentleman today, aren't you?"

  She tried to sound like her usual jaunty self, but didn't succeed.

  A narrow set of stairs led down.

  "She--Tee has the basement apartment?" I said.

  Zoe shook her head. "She owns the whole place. Elena, you come first. I'll help you down and Clayton can--"

  "Elena shouldn't be stooping to climb down rickety stairs," Clay said.

  "This is the only way in. The doors are bricked over."

  "I'll be fine," I said.

  The moment I reached the bottom step, I gagged. Clay knocked his head on the low ceiling frame in his rush to get to me.

  "I'm okay," I said, trying to speak without swallowing or closing my mouth. I motioned for him to wait, hurried up the steps and spat outside. When I came back down, the gag reflex kicked in again and I hesitated on the lowest step.

  "Come on," he said, taking my arm. "We're getting out--"

  "No."

  I pried his fingers free, then walked into the room, taking shallow breaths, acclimatizing myself to the smell. As for what it smelled like--I pushed back the thought as the bile rose again.

  "I can talk to Tee," Zoe said. "You go outside, get some fresh air, maybe something to settle your stomach--"

  "I'm fine. Just give me a moment to...get used to it."

  I peered around the room. It was midday and sunny outside, but only a faint glow shone through the window above, illuminating a scant few feet of dust motes. As my nose adjusted, my eyes did too, and I could see that we were in a hallway, barren except for neatly stacked crates. The hall was tidy, clean even. The smell seemed to come from a closed door down the hall, opposite the stairs leading up to the second level.

  "No lights, I suppose," I said.

  Zoe shook her head. "Sometimes I bring a flashlight but...it's better this way."

  "She--Tee doesn't like the light?"

  "Umm, not so much her..." Zoe slid off the crate and headed for the stairs.

  Labyrinth

  ZOE LED US UP THE STAIRS, WHICH ENDED AT A LANDING. To the left was the back door, which was indeed bricked over on the inside.

  We followed Zoe to the interior door. She did a fast patterned knock. As I waited for an answer from within, Zoe eased open the door just enough for her to slide through sideways. I grabbed the handle to push, but the door didn't budge.

  "Uh, there's no way I can fit--" I began.

  "Hold on." She grunted, as if moving something. Another grunt, and the door opened.

  I stepped in to see her restacking a pile of books.

  "Hope that was right," she murmured. "Tee hates them out of order. Is the smell better in here?"

  The horrible smell from downstairs was now overpowered by another sort of rot. Mildewed paper. I edged in, banging my stomach on a stack of books.

  "Hold on," Zoe whispered. "Give your eyes a second. It's a bit of a maze."

  Clay was breathing down my neck, but I waited, blinking a few times to adjust to the dimmer light. The windows had been boarded up, again from the inside, behind the blinds. To a passerby, it would look as if the shades were always drawn.

  When my night vision kicked in, I found myself in a labyrinth of books, some stacked taller than me. A narrow passage snaked into the room. Zoe had disappeared ahead of us.

  "Just follow the path," she called. "It only leads one way. Pretty easy."

  I'm sure it was easy--for those who could turn without adjusting like a transport driver for swing room. After banging my stomach into another stack, I walked with my hands over my belly. By the time I caught up to Zoe, my knuckles were scraped.

  "Stay close," she said. "We're almost there."

  "Good," Clay grunted behind me.

  Another few steps and the maze opened up into a second book-lined room. I tripped. Clay caught my arm, and I looked down to realize that the floor was carpeted with open books.

  "Just brush them aside as you walk," Zoe whispered.

  A small noise to my left drew my attention. There stood what looked like a giant white nest. Moving closer, I saw that it
was a pile of pages ripped from books. It was at least three feet high and twice that wide. Somewhere at the bottom, a happy mouse squeaked and burrowed deeper.

  I squinted at the stack of dismembered book spines beside the pile--everything from cookbooks to popular fiction to history texts to automotive manuals.

  "The answer is in there," a voice whispered somewhere behind me.

  I spun, but saw only books and darkness.

  "It's there," the voice said, as harsh and scratchy as sandpaper rasping against metal. "I haven't found it, but it's there. I know it is."

  I stared down at the pile of papers, but the voice said, "It isn't in those pages. That is, I don't think it is. It's hard to tell, isn't it? How do you know if you've found the answer, when you aren't quite certain of the question? Better to keep it all, just in case."

  I followed the voice to a shadow-wrapped corner. Something moved, then reared up, long, thin appendages unwrapping, like a praying mantis awakened from sleep. A face appeared in the darkness, a tangle of white hair nearly hiding the gaunt oval beneath. The head swayed from side to side, bobbing, weaving and snuffling, as the skeletal arms waved. Male or female? I couldn't tell if it was even human, this insectlike thing.

  I knew then what "Tee" stood for, and why it embarrassed Zoe. T for thing. Someone's cruel idea of a joke.

  Zoe stepped forward, as if to speak, but the thi--woman's gaze was fixed on me.

  "Oh, oh my," she breathed. "Yes, yes, I see. It is indeed. Or so it..." Tee's head cocked, sunken dark eyes darting to an empty spot beside her. "Are you quite sure?" She squinted at me again. "No, of course it isn't. I know a wolf when I see one, and that is a woman--" She paused, then hissed. "Yes, of course. I see that now. Human form. I was confused. No need to mock me."

  "Tee?" Zoe said.

  A scrabbling noise. Tee's head moved higher, looming above ours, jutting forward and sniffing the air.

  "Zoe?" she said. "Yes, yes, I can see. I'm not blind. I know my Zoe. Did she bring me something?" A wet, smacking noise. "A sweet morsel from my sweet Zoe?"

  "Straight from me, if that's what you'd like, Tee. I have a favor to ask of you."

  More smacking, then a nauseating gurgling sound. Tee's face moved back and forth, as if she was rocking.

  "Oh yes, yes. You're good to me, Zoe. You never try to trick old Tee. Give and take. That's the way the world works. Give and take."