Tina headed for the front door. I picked up Russom’s from where it lay on the coffee table. “Wait a second,” I said. “Mab did mention you. She said you needed to work harder on the individual species of the Inimicus genus.”
“That’s what she told me, too.”
“So I guess you can hang on to my copy of Russom’s a little longer. I’m not using it right now.”
She grinned and reached for the book.
“But,” I added, pulling back slightly, “we need to be clear on one thing. I’m still not taking you back as an apprentice. You do understand that, right?”
Tina nodded, her eyes on Russom’s like it was a container of butter-pecan ice cream and not some dry old textbook about demons. “Yeah, sure. I understand. I just want to, you know, brush up.” I let her take the book, and she hugged it to her chest. “If you need somebody to stay with your aunt again, give me a call, okay?” She let herself out.
Wow. Tina offering to do somebody a favor. I stood and stared at the closed door like maybe another miracle would happen. I could use one right about now.
I WENT TO BED BEFORE DAWN, BUT FOR A LONG TIME I LAY on my back on the sofa, unable to sleep. When I did drift off, I found myself in my usual dreamscape, an endless space of soft twilight. Sort of how I imagined it would feel to float in a warm ocean at midnight. Empty and restful.
Something stirred in the darkness, a small pulse in the air like a soft sigh. It pulsed again. As I watched, it took on form and color, becoming a small pink cloud. The cloud hiccupped and grew a little larger. Sky blue streaks swirled up among the pink.
I peered through the colors to see a young face peering back at me.
“Hi, Maria.”
“Yes! I did it!” She pumped her fist. “I called you.” My niece stood in the middle of a vast, colorless dreamscape, like an actor on an empty stage.
“You certainly did. But isn’t it a school night?”
“Nope. Tomorrow’s an in-service day. That means the teachers have to go to school, but the kids stay home.” She did a little happy dance. “I really called you! It wasn’t too hard, either.”
“It gets even easier with practice. For example, you can fill in your dreamscape with whatever scenery you want. You can make it look like you’re in your bedroom at home, or you can make it look like you’re a princess sitting on a throne in a big castle.”
“Princess stuff is for little kids.”
“Well, whatever you want.”
“Can you show me how?”
“Sure. Start by closing your eyes.”
“My eyes are already closed. I’m sleeping.”
“Inside your dream. When you’re getting started, imagining is easier with your eyes closed.”
She screwed her eyes tightly shut.
“Relax a little. Believe it or not, the harder you try, the more difficult it gets.”
Her face smoothed out as she let some of the tension go.
“Good. Now, think of somewhere you’d like to be. Somewhere fun.”
“The beach.” Each summer, the Santinis spent a week’s vacation on Cape Cod.
“Good choice. Now, imagine you’re there. Feel the sand under your toes, the warm sun on your back. What do you hear?”
“Seagulls. And the waves coming into the shore.” She turned her head a little and sniffed. “Vicky! I can smell the salt water!”
“Perfect. Hold all that in your mind.” As she did, a seascape sketched itself around her. Colors and shapes filled in—a beach umbrella, a plastic bucket, a sandcastle decorated with shells. “Ready? Open your eyes.”
She did, and her eyes went wide with amazement. Her pajamas had changed to a bright pink bathing suit, and pinkframed sunglasses perched on top of her head. She spun around, laughing, and ran to splash in the water. “It’s cold!” she shouted. “Just like at the Cape!”
“You can warm it up if you want. It’s your dream.”
“Really?” She closed her eyes again. Then she opened them and threw herself into the water. She dived into the waves, arcing through them like a porpoise. Briefly, a gleaming porpoise superimposed itself on her as she swam. I saw both Maria and the animal she’d be if she shifted right now.
Interesting. Maria’s shapeshifting abilities might be developing faster than we’d realized.
But when she ran back up the beach, water streaming from her hair, she was all Maria, an eleven-year-old girl having fun. She looked around for a towel, but there wasn’t one. She closed her eyes, and a towel patterned with seahorses draped itself around her shoulders.
“That’s what your mom and I were talking about when we said you’re in charge of your dreams. Eventually, you won’t even have to close your eyes to make things happen.”
“Cool!” She sat down on the sand and tipped her head back to look at the clear blue sky. “Thanks for teaching me, Aunt Vicky.”
“I think that was a pretty good first lesson. Now we should both get some real sleep.”
Maria drew lines in the sand with her finger. Studying them, she asked, “What did Mom tell you about my great-aunt? When she made me go outside.”
One thing Gwen was right about—Maria shouldn’t hear that story. I did my best to answer without answering. “Your mom is a good person. Aunt Mab is a good person. But there’s a misunderstanding between them that probably can’t be fixed. It’s sad, but sometimes things happen that way.”
“If it’s a misunderstanding, can’t you talk to Mom?”
“I don’t think it would help. Not after all this time.”
“Aunt Mab’s colors were so pretty. And she wanted to help you. I don’t believe she’d do anything bad.”
“She didn’t. But you still have to obey your mom. When she says that she and I are the only people you can talk to on the dream phone, you listen.” In her current condition, I didn’t think Mab had the strength to use the dream phone, and I didn’t want Maria trying to call her.
“Okay. But maybe Mom will change her mind.”
Not on this issue. Not unless she could travel back in time and turn around at the right moment, to see what Mab had saved her from.
“Now I’m going to show you how to hang up the dream phone. You know what you did to call me?”
“I thought about your colors.”
“Do that again.” She immediately closed her eyes. “In your mind, make them rise up so it looks like I’m standing in the fog.” As she concentrated, her own colors rose up around her where she sat in the sand. They swirled around her waist, then her shoulders. When the pink and blue tendrils of mist touched her face, I said softly, “Good night, Maria.”
My dreamscape returned to its empty, dim twilight. I heard the faint cry of a seagull, and then Maria’s voice, like an echo from far away, bidding me good night.
28
WHEN I WOKE, IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON. I REMOVED THE splint from my wrist and moved my hand. It was a little weak, but it felt fine. I crept down the hall to check on Mab, who slept. I couldn’t see her in the darkened room, and I didn’t want to wake her by turning on the light, but I listened to her breathing for a while. Slow and even, punctuated from time to time by a tiny snore. No wheezing or struggling for air. Mab was hanging on. It was the best I could hope for right now.
I pulled the bedroom door shut and went back down the hall. I brewed a pot of coffee and turned on the TV to see what the press was saying about the Reaper murders. Mostly, it was what you’d expect: shots of the latest murder site, a profile of the victim (Mack had been in his fifties, unmarried, and a member of Humans First), and a summary of the other murders. CNN aired an interview with a motorist who’d been traveling on Storrow Drive and claimed to see a “monster” through the trees at the time of the murder.
“The thing was about fifty feet tall,” he said, stretching a hand way above his head. “It looked like the devil, with horns and everything. Like a monster out of a nightmare.”
Kane jumped up on the sofa beside me and growled at the screen.
“It was Myrddin,” I said. “I shot him, and his injuries made him change into his demon form.” The demon had been closer to twenty feet tall than fifty, but otherwise the witness gave a pretty good description.
But the problem was his use of the word “monster,” and not just because Kane found it politically incorrect. A press conference held by Police Commissioner Hampson came on.
Hampson stood at a podium, tugging at his necktie and reading from a prepared statement. “For the next forty-eight hours, an emergency containment order will be in effect on all paranormals throughout Massachusetts.”
Kane and I gaped at each other. A containment order meant that all residents of Deadtown had to be present and accounted for within its borders by sundown on the day of issue. And they had to stay in Deadtown until the order expired.
“In addition,” Hampson went on, “a curfew will be enforced on Designated Area 1 during that time. All residents of that designated area must be off the streets between ten p.m. and four a.m. during the period of the containment order. The Joint Human-Paranormal Task Force will conduct random compliance checks.”
Hampson’s curfew covered the times the murders had been committed, but slapping a curfew on Deadtown in the middle of the night was like shutting down the norms’ business district between eight and five on a weekday. Hampson had put all of Deadtown under house arrest, sending out the Goon Squad to knock on people’s doors and make sure they stayed home.
The containment order would make it harder, but not impossible, to get myself into position at Boylston Street tomorrow night. It would mean sneaking out again. Myrddin wanted my life force to complete his ritual, but he’d make do with that of some random victim if I wasn’t around. And I wouldn’t let that happen.
Kane paced the length of the living room, growling, and I realized that Hampson’s containment order was a bigger problem for him. He couldn’t be accounted for, not without revealing that he was stuck in wolf form. The very idea that a werewolf could change when the moon wasn’t full would send the norms into a panic. I could already hear the speeches calling for a mass werewolf internment, permanently restricting the entire species to the secure retreats.
“Kane,” I said. He paused in his pacing and looked at me. “The night you and Mab rescued me—did you go through the checkpoints when you left Deadtown?”
He nodded.
“And then we sneaked back in. That means there’s no record of your reentry. So as far as the authorities know, you’re still outside Deadtown.” That didn’t matter for the containment order—not if he was thought to be in Massachusetts. All paranormals would have to report to one of the state’s designated areas: Deadtown, a werewolf retreat, or one of the smaller paranormal-only sections in cities like Worcester and Springfield. If another murder happened, any “monster” who wasn’t accounted for would be a suspect.
But maybe we could convince them he was out of state.
I dialed the number for 24-Hour Copy.
“Vicky,” Carlos said, when he came on the line, “don’t tell me you need another ID already. I’m going to have to start offering you a volume discount.”
“Nope, I’ve still got the last card you made for me. But I thought maybe you could help me with another little problem.”
He chuckled. “Your ‘little problems’ are usually big news for my bank account. What’s up?”
“You’ve heard about the containment order?” He had. “I need to come up with evidence that someone left the state a couple of days ago.”
“And stays out of state for at least the next forty-eight hours. Gotcha. Where?”
“D.C.” Kane had rented an apartment there when he’d been working full-time on his Supreme Court case. The lease hadn’t yet expired. I explained as much as I could without telling Carlos that Kane was currently a wolf.
But Carlos was never one to ask for inconvenient details. “Here’s what I can do,” he said. “I’ll call a norm I know who might be willing to take a quick trip to D.C. on Kane’s ID. All expenses paid, of course.” Of course. “Guy I have in mind has the right height and build. Just needs to dye his hair. I can . . . Let me see, what time is it? Less than two hours to sunset. Damn, girl, you’re not giving me much time. Okay, if my guy can make the trip, he’ll drive down as himself—you know, as a human—some time tonight.” The states didn’t keep records of the humans who crossed their borders, only paranormals. “I’ll get busy with the state databases to add a few records showing that Kane drove down . . . you said a couple of days ago. When, exactly?”
“Make it Monday morning.”
“Monday morning. Let me write that down.” He paused, and I pictured him searching for a pencil and paper on his cluttered desk. “Okay. Get me the key to Kane’s apartment so I can pass it on. I won’t get the fake ID done in time, but I’ll email the file to an associate of mine in Washington, along with the number of a credit card in Kane’s name. The credit card will already have some charges on it—groceries, meals, that sort of thing. When the new ‘Mr. Kane’ gets into town, he can pick up the cards at my associate’s establishment. He buys some more dinners on the credit card, flashes his ID a few places, and—ta da!—plenty of evidence he was outside of Massachusetts during the containment order.”
The whole scheme hinged on the availability of Carlos’s norm friend, so he said he’d call back to confirm. I explained the plan to Kane, and by the time I finished, Carlos had called back to say everything was a go. I managed not to faint when he told me how much it would cost, not including expenses.
Kane would be accounted for, that was the important thing. Besides, he was paying.
Next I called Daniel. “What’s Hampson thinking with this containment order?”
“What do you expect, Vicky?” He sounded both exhausted and exasperated. “ There’s no secret lair in the abandoned subway tunnel—we checked.” No surprise that Daniel hadn’t found anything, either. “Hampson was furious about time we wasted on that dead end. I told him about Morfran possession and how it pointed to a human killer. Roxana showed him the rune and how it fit the pattern of murder sites. He blew it all off. Called it ‘mumbo jumbo’ and fired Roxana as a consultant.”
“So he locks down Deadtown?” It was the stupidest response possible.
“What else would he do? He won’t listen to me. He’s convinced the murderer is from there. The motorist who said he saw a ‘monster,’ the mutilation of the bodies, even the fact that a variant of the damn plague virus has appeared in the wild—in his mind, it all adds up to a paranormal killer.”
“Is the lab still under quarantine?”
“Yes, until the end of the week. But no symptoms yet. Feels like the only piece of good news I’ve had all year.”
What a mess I’d made for Daniel—the virus sample, a German shepherd in his crime site, information that did nothing but infuriate his boss. But the information was important, and I needed Daniel to act on it. Lives depended on it.
“Daniel, you know that rune pattern is valid. Tomorrow night, the Reaper will be looking for a victim somewhere near the Boylston Street T station. No matter what Hampson thinks.”
“I know. I’ll do what I can, but Hampson has directed nearly all our resources to patrolling the perimeter of Deadtown. He’s even convinced Governor Sugden to call in the National Guard.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. Hampson argued that the zombies are likely to riot. Apparently, after that protest march got out of hand, the governor agreed with him.”
Wow. Sugden, whose own daughter was a zombie, was usually a friend to the paranormals. Now he’d ordered the tightest lockdown since the plague. And all because some zombies pushed past the first checkpoint to have a beer in the Zone? Nothing had gotten out of hand; they hadn’t even tried to march into the human part of Boston.
Hampson had to be feeling a lot of pressure from his Humans First buddies to use these murders to advance the cause. But his focus on Deadtown wa
s ridiculously shortsighted. “So while the cops and the National Guard tighten the noose around Deadtown,” I said, “the Reaper will get on with his work behind their backs.”
“Like I said, I’ll do what I can.” Tension strained his voice. “And Vicky, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re like—stay away from this. Don’t try to sneak out of Deadtown. Don’t try to catch this guy yourself. Let the police handle it.” He hung up, making sure he got the final word.
Let the police handle it. Those same police who’d be playing ring-around-the-rosie around Deadtown? Somehow, I didn’t think so.
I WAS OUT FOR HALF AN HOUR GETTING THE KEYS FOR Kane’s D.C. place and delivering them to Carlos. When I got home, I heard Mab moving around in the bedroom and went to see how she was doing. I knocked on the door and pushed it open. The creature who sat on the edge of the bed barely resembled my aunt. She looked like a wizened gnome, or one of those preserved bodies that archeologists dug up from peat bogs. Her gray hair had thinned; I could see her scalp through it. Her feet dangled over the side of my bed, not touching the floor.
“I’m afraid I need some help getting to the lavatory.”
I lifted her to her feet. Mab was normally a couple of inches taller than my five foot six, but she’d shrunken so much she barely came up to my shoulder. Although she leaned heavily against me as we crossed the hall to the bathroom, I barely felt her weight.
When I returned her to bed, she patted the mattress. “Sit, child.”
“Can I get you anything first? A cup of tea?”
“I’m past any need or desire for nourishment.” She patted the bed again. “Come, sit close. I can barely see you. Give me your hand, child.”
I sat and took her hand. Mab had said that, without the bloodstone, her body would rapidly catch up with her true age. But she looked older than any living person I’d ever seen. “Mab, how old are you?”
“In this lifetime? A shade over three hundred years.” Most of the Cerddorion lived human-length lifespans, but Mab had told me once that some of our kind live much longer. And with the bloodstone, perhaps she’d pushed the limit even further. “You probably think I’m no different from the Old Ones, trying to live forever. It’s not that, child. I’ve had to hold on; I’ve waited so long for my successor.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “There have been many apprentices over the years, many fine demon fighters. But always I waited for Victory.”
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