“Sure, okay. Nobody gets in.” She opened drawers until she found a spoon. “Is your aunt, like, in danger or something?” Her eyes widened. “Are there demons after her?”
If only you knew. “Not immediate danger. And no, you won’t have to fight off any demons, so stay out of my weapons cupboard.” I hoped the lock was strong enough to keep Tina out if she got curious. “Like I said, my aunt isn’t feeling well. I want to make sure she gets her rest.”
Tina nodded. I picked up the ice cream and handed it to her.
“What did you do to your wrist?” she asked, looking at the splint.
“I broke it in a fight with a vampire.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. You probably slipped in the shower or something. You know,” she said over her shoulder as she carried the ice cream into the living room, “you don’t have to make up stuff to make your life seem more interesting than it really is.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Kane, waiting by the front door, bared his teeth when he saw her.
Tina sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote. She flipped to a talk show. Then she put her feet up on the coffee table and pulled off the ice cream carton’s lid. “Killer wants ice cream. I’d give him some—you know, to make friends—but chocolate is bad for dogs.”
Kane growled deep in his throat. I had a feeling it would be bad for Tina if I didn’t get him away from her.
“Thanks, Tina. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I ran into Juliet’s room, grabbed one of her sweaters, and stuck it in a plastic bag. Back in the living room, I pulled on my jacket. “Come on, Killer.”
When I opened the door, Kane ran out into the hallway and jumped up to press the elevator button. I hoped we’d get him through the lobby without Clyde noticing. The thought made me turn around.
“Tina, one more thing. Don’t tell anyone that Killer’s staying with me, okay? We’re not supposed to have pets in this building.”
She answered through a mouthful of chocolate. “That’s two favors you owe me now. Don’t think I’m not counting.”
25
WE DIDN’T EVEN TRY TO HIDE KANE AS WE CROSSED THE lobby. Clyde’s eyes bugged out and he turned a new shade of zombie green, but he must have seen something in my face, because he didn’t say a word. He went back behind his desk and shuffled papers, pretending we weren’t there.
The checkpoint presented no problems. Kane stayed low, and the guard didn’t notice him. Besides, German shepherds didn’t need permits. At Back Street, police had cordoned off the murder site. Portable floodlights illuminated the scene. Police cars flashed their lights, contributing an almost carnivalesque atmosphere. Uniformed cops stood at the perimeter, keeping reporters and curious citizens back. The crowd spilled into Berkeley Street. Kane and I threaded our way through the onlookers until we got to the front.
Roxana’s charm held. No one shouted “Werewolf!” and ran away screaming.
I bent down and spoke quietly in Kane’s ear. It twitched as he listened. “The last time I saw Juliet, we were standing by that crashed taxi. Mab was inspecting the driver’s injuries, I stood beside her, and Juliet was behind us. We stood there for a minute, tops. But when I turned around to leave, Juliet was gone.”
Kane nudged at the plastic bag I held. I removed Juliet’s sweater and held it out to him. He sniffed at the fabric, taking his time. Then he put his nose to the ground. He moved back and forth along Berkeley Street, nudging people out of the way or scooting between their legs, trying to find the scent. It must have been hard trying to sniff out one vampire in that jumble of confusing odors.
Before long, though, Kane froze. He raised his head and yipped quietly, looking back at me.
“You got it?” I mouthed.
He nodded and lowered his head to the ground again. He broke out of the crowd and moved toward Beacon Street at a swift trot.
At the intersection, Kane turned right on Beacon. He went maybe a dozen yards and then veered toward the curb. Beside a parked car, he stopped and raised his head. He looked up and down the street, nostrils flaring, trying to catch a scent on the wind. Then he squeezed between two parked cars, stepping into the street. He walked slowly along the street side of the cars, sniffing the ground. There wasn’t much traffic on the oneway street at this time of night, but I watched for cars coming from Beacon Hill.
Kane bounded across the street and paced up and down the sidewalk there. After a few minutes, he returned to where I stood. He sat and shook his head.
“So the trail disappears right here?”
He nodded. He got up on his hind legs, leaning his front paws against a car, and then looked down the street.
“Yeah, that must be what happened. They put her in some vehicle and drove off.” I slumped against the parked car. Damned dead end. Now what? The Old Ones had Juliet. Myrddin had the bloodstone, and Mab was aging by the minute. Kane was stuck in wolf form, thanks to Myrddin’s magic. And in forty-eight hours, someone else would die.
It was more than I could handle. Maybe I could do something to stop the Reaper—and frustrate Myrddin’s plans. But I couldn’t do it alone.
“I’m going to look for Daniel,” I told Kane. I couldn’t imagine Detective Costello would be happy to see me, the “amateur detective” who wasn’t good at much besides handing over mysterious virus samples and getting in the way. But if I told him where the Reaper would strike next, he could flood the place with cops and, with luck, prevent the final murder.
And I’d be there, too, to settle things with Myrddin.
We made our way back to the crime scene. The crowd had thinned. There wasn’t much to see: crime scene technicians crawling over the place, a photographer taking photos, cops standing around talking.
Standing beside the Channel 10 On-the-Scene News van was Lynne Hong, investigative reporter. Lynne had been dating Daniel since the Paranormal Appreciation Day concert. She was pretty and petite and, right now, mad as hell. I went over to talk to her.
She nodded in greeting when she saw me, then turned her annoyed gaze back to the crime scene.
“Is Daniel here?” I asked.
“Yes. Not that it’s doing me any good. There’s been no official statement yet, and he won’t talk to me unofficially. What good is dating a cop if you can’t get inside information?”
I’d gone out with Daniel a few times, and I could think of lots of good reasons to date him. “He’s under a lot of stress right now—” I began.
“They’re keeping all the reporters way back,” she said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “We couldn’t even get a decent shot of the ambulance crew removing the body.”
“I need to talk to Daniel. Can you point out where he is?”
“Why?” Her head whipped around, and she looked at me as though she’d only just realized I stood beside her. “Do you have information? Can give me something to follow up on?”
Her eyes shone with eagerness. A month ago, when a mysterious force was killing Deadtown’s zombies, “eager” had nothing to do with Lynne Hong, who’d been slow to cover the story. Now that humans were the victims, she was all over it. I wasn’t going to give her any scoops. I shook my head and walked away.
“He’s over there,” she called. I turned around to see where she was pointing, then waved my thanks.
As I walked in the direction Lynne had indicated, I noticed that all the police activity was on the strip of grass between Back Street and Storrow Drive. There were no cops in the place where Mab and I had been cornered by Myrddin’s vampire allies. That area wasn’t marked off as part of the crime scene. The vampires were gone. No bodies lay in the street. Not even the SUV Myrddin had blasted remained.
The Old Ones had done one hell of a clean-up job. And fast. But why bother?
I could think of only one reason. They must have feared the vampire, the one I didn’t kill, would betray them. They’d lost their grip on Juliet, who’d run away. Maybe they worried their power was slipping.
At
the crime scene’s perimeter, a uniformed cop stood with his arms folded across his chest. He was young and trying to look tough. Probably not the best cop to approach, but he was closest to Daniel. I stopped in front of him, and he gave me a distinctly unfriendly look.
“I need to talk to Detective Costello.”
“Who are you?” His sneer looked like he’d been taking lessons from Norden.
“My name’s Vicky Vaughn. He knows me. I have some information for him.”
He didn’t turn around, didn’t even blink. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Detective Costello is busy right now. This is a crime scene.”
“Oh, really? I thought you’d strung up all that black-and-yellow tape for a birthday party.”
He still didn’t blink. “If you call the department, you can make an appointment to see him tomorrow.”
I could see Daniel right now, standing near the taxi, his partner beside him. They were talking to a woman who stood with her back to me. Long black hair cascaded down her back. For a second, I thought it was Juliet, but then I realized this woman was taller. It was Roxana Jade. I wondered what a witch was doing at the crime scene.
“Daniel!” I shouted, my hands cupped around my mouth. He turned, and I waved my arm over my head.
The cop standing guard pivoted to see Daniel’s reaction. When he did, Kane bolted from the shadows and into the crime scene.
Daniel held up a finger, telling me to wait. He touched Roxana’s arm. She turned, her eyes scanning the crowd until she saw me, and nodded. The two of them came over. Daniel’s partner moved off to talk to the photographer.
“Vicky.” Daniel’s voice was wary. “What are you doing here?”
I decided to play the concerned citizen, not the amateur detective: Give my information to the professionals and let them handle it. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him it was my second visit here tonight.
“My aunt and I plotted the murder sites on a map. We thought we recognized a pattern, and then we heard that there’d been another murder, right where the pattern indicated. I figured you’d be here, so I came to tell you.”
“What pattern?” Roxana asked.
“It’s a rune.”
“Eihwaz.” Roxana nodded. “That rune was carved—”
“Roxana.” Daniel’s sharp voice cut her off. He wouldn’t be giving me any free information, that was clear. Suddenly, I understood Lynne’s frustration. Daniel turned to me. “What do you know about this rune?”
“It represents the yew tree.”
“It’s a complex symbol,” Roxana said. “It symbolizes both death and transcendence over death. Yew trees are planted in cemeteries throughout the British Isles. They belong to the dead, yet the trees themselves are some of the oldest living things on the planet.” She traced the symbol in the air with her finger. “Death not as an ending, but as a beginning. That’s how I’ve always thought of eihwaz.”
That made a whole lot of sense. It meshed with what the Old Ones wanted, passing through undeath into eternal life. It also expressed what Myrddin was trying to do—use the deaths of others to create a new life for Pryce.
I asked Roxana what she was doing here. Daniel gave her a sharp glance and answered for her.
“Roxana’s an expert in magical symbols. She’s working for us as a consultant.” His tone said that she had a reason to be here—and I didn’t. The implication stung. Well, I wasn’t here to win Daniel’s approval. I just needed to make sure he knew where the next murder would take place. “I came to tell you about the rune. But since you already know about it, you can see why the pattern is important: It predicts the next murder site. The Reaper will kill again near the Boylston Street T station, the night after tomorrow.”
Daniel nodded, and I drew in a deep breath of relief.
I decided to push my luck. “I told you that I think that a wizard named Myrddin is using the Reaper to try to resuscitate Pryce Maddox.”
Wary, yet interested, Daniel nodded. Since the Paranormal Appreciation Day concert, there had been an arrest warrant out for Pryce, who was wanted for using sorcery to incite terror. I knew that Daniel would love to be the one who arrested him.
“There will be some sort of facility near the murder site set up to do the ritual transfer,” I continued. “It will be dark”—the Old Ones didn’t like sunlight any more than vampires—“probably underground. In fact, I bet if you check the basements of these buildings, you’ll find something like that here.”
Daniel’s expression made me suspect they were already doing just that. It made sense. They’d found an underground facility at the previous murder site. Roxana caught her breath. “There’s an abandoned subway tunnel right near that T station,” she exclaimed. “It runs south from Boylston under Tremont Street. An ex-boyfriend of mine—he belongs to an urban explorers’ club, and they check out abandoned buildings and tunnels and such—anyway, he told me about it. You get into the old tunnel through the emergency exit at the Boylston Street station, inbound side.”
Bingo. That had to be the Old Ones’ headquarters. I could have hugged Roxana. Now I’d find Kane and we’d check it out together. I started to move away.
“Vicky.” Daniel’s voice held a warning. “Stay away from there. I mean it.”
Before I could reply, a voice shouted from the crime scene. “Get that damn dog out of here!”
I looked in the direction of the yelling. Daniel’s partner flapped his arms, making shooing motions. Kane ran out from behind the taxi and into Back Street.
“Here,” I shouted. “Over here!”
Kane swiveled in midstride and trotted over to where we stood. He sat down and looked at me. His tail thumped on the pavement. Roxana’s charm dangled from his neck, resting against his chest.
Roxana didn’t say anything. Her almost imperceptible nod told me she wouldn’t give us away.
“That’s your dog?” Daniel asked, surprised.
“I’m just watching him. Temporarily.”
Daniel’s partner came puffing over, looking furious. “You’re responsible for that animal? What the hell do you think you’re doing, letting it run all over a crime scene?”
“Sorry. I thought he was waiting for me over there.” I gestured vaguely toward Berkeley Street. “With a serial killer in Boston, I figure I’m safer with him along.”
“Give her a break, Foster,” Daniel said.
Detective Foster narrowed his eyes at Kane. “What the hell kind of dog is that, anyway?”
The air around Kane shimmered. He still looked like a German shepherd to me, but someone with clairvoyant abilities might be able to see through Roxana’s charm. If Foster had clairvoyance . . .
“He’s a German shepherd,” I said.
“Looks like a goddamn werewolf to me.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I scoffed. “We’re weeks away from the full moon.”
Hand at her side, Roxana made surreptitious gestures with her fingers, strengthening the charm. “My grandparents used to breed German shepherds,” she said. “This animal is a beautiful example.”
Foster stared at Kane. Roxana’s fingers moved faster. Don’t growl at him, Kane. Whatever you do, don’t growl. Kane’s hackles rose, but he managed to swallow any growl before it escaped. He turned away from Foster, flicking out his tongue and licking my hand.
The detective grunted and looked away.
“I’ll take him home.”
“What the hell are you doing here, anyway?” Foster directed his glare my way. His neck veins looked ready to pop as he swiveled his head to Daniel. “And why are you consorting with a known paranormal?” He made paranormal sound like the equivalent of criminal. Talking to me could get Daniel in big trouble with Hampson.
“I was taking my dog for a walk,” I said, regarding Foster levelly. “I saw the commotion here and came over to see what was happening. Then I noticed Roxana and called her over. We’re, um, going shopping together next weekend and I wanted to confirm our plans.”
Foster dialed back his expression from furious to annoyed. He believed me. “We’ve got more important things happening here than a goddamn shopping trip.”
“I know. I’m going.” I slapped my thigh. “Come on, Killer.” We turned toward Berkeley Street.
“And that dog shouldn’t be running around like that!” Foster yelled behind us. “Boston has leash laws, you know.”
At that, Kane did growl, but we were already leaving. If Foster heard, he didn’t give any indication.
Even under the cloak of Roxana’s diminution charm, Kane looked sleek and powerful. He moved with graceful strides, muscles rippling, each step strong and sure. Just try putting a leash on that.
26
KANE AND I HURRIED THROUGH THE STREETS OF BOSTON, trying to get to the Boylston Street T station before it closed for the night. As soon as we were out of sight of the crime scene, we broke into a jog, staying on Berkeley until we turned left on Boylston. We made one stop, at an all-night convenience store where I paid an exorbitant price for a portable flashlight. It was a rip-off, but I figured a flashlight was the must-have accessory for exploring abandoned subway tunnels. Well, that and a fistful of weapons, but I was already armed. A couple more blocks and we were there.
The entrances to the Boylston Street T station are housed in two small, narrow concrete buildings—one for the inbound track and one for the outbound—on the edge of Boston Common. Roxana said her ex had explored the old tunnel from the inbound station, so that’s where I headed. I pulled open the glass door and trotted down the stairs. The warm scent of the subway, exhaust and oil and urine, puffed up to meet me. Kane glided down the staircase beside me, silent as a shadow, keeping close to the wall. Near the bottom, he waited, crouching. I went over to talk to the attendant, who sat by the entry gates in a folding chair. He wore a tweed cap with his MBTA uniform and looked to be in his sixties.
“What time is the last train?” I asked, positioning myself between him and the stairs.
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