Cody nodded. “Yeah, I did. It seems Mary Sudbury’s got a sister who lives in town. I thought we could talk to her.”
The chief folded his meaty hands. “Check out the sister and Dunham’s place. Assuming this hostage exists, let’s make her a priority, since no one else will. Gather as much information as you can. If we can find her on our own without stirring the pot further, so much the better; if not, bring in Mollenkamp for questioning. If he’s in collusion with Dunham, maybe he can give us an address. But the good citizens of Appeldoorn are already up in arms, and I’d like to avoid adding fuel to their fire.” He grimaced. “I took quite a shellacking at the Vanderhei boy’s funeral. It wasn’t pleasant.”
I touched dauda-dagr’s hilt. “Let’s go.”
“Hold on.” Chief Bryant forestalled me. “Daisy, I had a call from Amanda Brooks. She wants to meet with you.”
Oh, crap. Amanda Brooks was the head of the Pemkowet Visitors Bureau, intense, high-strung, and, to make matters worse, she’d hired her daughter Stacey, who happened to be one of my high school nemeses, as her assistant. The incident in the girls’ locker room with the bursting hot-water pipes that got me suspended? That was all Stacey Brooks.
I made a face. “Me? Why me?”
Leaning back in his chair, the chief shifted his folded hands over his belly. “She’s got some ideas she wants to discuss with Hel’s liaison. I promised you’d be in touch today. Understood?”
I sighed. “Yes, sir.”
Twenty-nine
There was yet another commotion taking place outside the police station, leading me to wish, not for the first time since the Vanderhei kid had drowned, that it wasn’t centrally located on downtown Pemkowet’s main street.
Stefan Ludovic.
He was leaning against the seat of his Harley, booted ankles crossed. A pair of dark wraparound sunglasses bisected the unnatural pallor of his face. It should have looked cheesy in a Eurotrash kind of way, but it didn’t.
He looked . . . hot.
A dozen tourists snapping eager photos agreed with me. Half a dozen wary protestors weren’t so sure, and neither was Cody.
“What’s he doing here?” he complained.
I fumbled in the inner pockets of my purse for Stefan’s smoky quartz pendant. “Oh, I kind of borrowed something of his yesterday. He probably wants it back. He said it was special to him.”
“You what?”
Cars squealed to a halt to let Stefan amble across the street with loose-limbed grace. He inclined his head to me. “Daisy.”
I was hoping my emotions wouldn’t start jangling in his presence. No such luck. I cleared my throat, handing him the pendant. “Stefan.”
It dangled from his fist. “Did it suit your needs?”
I nodded. “Yeah, it did. Thanks. I really appreciate it. Um . . . did you think I would forget to give it back?”
“No.” He stashed the pendant in the pocket of his leather vest, then removed his sunglasses, revealing dilated pupils in those ice-blue eyes. “I felt a great outpouring of anger from you this morning. It concerned me.”
“It most certainly didn’t concern you,” Cody muttered.
I ignored him. Yep, definitely still jangling. “You . . . felt that?”
The protestors had abandoned their marching and chanting, and stood milling around us, craning to hear.
“Now that you’ve willingly allowed me to taste you, I’m attuned to you, Daisy,” Stefan said calmly. “Of course I felt it.”
“You what?” Cody repeated. “You let him taste you?”
I felt my face get hot. “It was an emergency, okay? And you might have mentioned that little side effect before you let me say yes,” I added to Stefan.
He didn’t exactly smile, but a dimple came and went alongside the corner of his mouth. “I might have. As you observed, it was something of an emergency. But you are well, I trust? Nothing is amiss?”
“I’m fine.” I glanced around at the gawking protestors and tourists. I sure as hell wasn’t going to mention Meg Mucklebones in the middle of this crowd. “Thanks for checking on me, but we’ve really got to go.”
“We should share information again, Hel’s liaison,” Stefan said. “Where are you bound? I’ll follow you.”
My temper stirred. “Look—”
Cody tapped my shoulder. “Actually, Daisy, this gives me an idea. Go ahead and follow us,” he said to Stefan. “I’ve got a request for you.”
“Of course, Officer.” Stefan’s face took on a neutral expression. “I’m pleased to assist if I can.”
As he turned to go, one of the protestors found an unexpected surge of courage and stepped forward to confront him. She held up a pendant of her own, a shiny gold cross, thrusting it toward Stefan’s face.
“No sanctuary for Satanism!” Her voice shook a bit, and the cross trembled in her hand, but she stood her ground. “Begone, fiend!”
Several tourists on the outskirts said, “Ooh!” And I swear to God, a pair of teenage girls were dipping into bags of caramel corn and shoving it into their mouths like they were watching a movie.
More protestors joined the bold one, closing ranks with her. “Go back to whatever hell you came from!” one shouted. “Leave the mortal world to God’s children!”
Once again, the chant arose.
“No sanctuary for Satanism! No sanctuary for Satanism!”
Stefan went very still.
It was the same deep, cool well of stillness I’d felt when I let my anger pour into him at Thad’s funeral, but this time it radiated outward, encompassing the protestors and the gawking tourists.
The chant faltered.
I had a feeling I had a lot to learn about ghouls. At least, centuries-old ghouls with ironclad control.
Stefan’s pupils waxed until they were glittering black moons surrounded by a thin rim of pale blue, then shrank to pinpoints. He fixed the young woman who’d first confronted him with that icy, blind-looking gaze. “You are very much mistaken as to my nature, madam. Once upon a time, my faith rivaled your own. But there are tales of heaven and hell that your priests will not tell you, and mine is such a one.”
She gaped at him.
With one pale finger, he pushed aside the gold cross she still held outthrust in his direction. “May I pass?” he inquired. “Or would you prefer that I drain away a measure of this unhealthy terror and spite of the unknown that bedevils you?” His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply and flicked his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. “It would be a pleasure to provide such a service.”
The young woman made an “Eeep!” sound and stepped aside rapidly, the other protestors tripping over one another in their haste to follow.
“Thank you.” Stefan put on his wraparound sunglasses. A handful of tourists reached for their cameras and phones.
“East Pemkowet!” Cody called after him. “We’ll meet you on the other side of the bridge.”
The Harley roared to life in answer.
Once he was behind the wheel of the patrol car, Cody permitted himself a brief, satisfied grin. “You know, for that I could almost bring myself to like the guy.”
“Me, too.”
He glanced at me. “Seems like you like him well enough already, Pixy Stix. You let him taste you?”
I slouched in the shotgun seat. “It was at the funeral yesterday. I was about to lose it. So what’s this idea of yours?”
Cody took a left at downtown Pemkowet’s only stoplight, which, by the way, is in operation only during tourist season. There’s actually a ceremony involved. “I’m thinking maybe Lord Muckety-Muck can send someone to check out Dunham’s house without spooking him. At least he’s got an in.”
I straightened. “Not bad. You trust him?”
“No,” he said. “But I’ve been thinking. You’re right: I don’t think he’s working with Dunham. From what I’ve seen looking for Ray D, there’s still a power struggle going on under the surface in ghoul-world, and for better or worse, Ludov
ic’s thrown his lot in with our side in this investigation. It’s worth a try. We can always follow up on our own.”
“Okay.” I stole a look at him. “So, um . . . on a scale of one to ten, how mad at me are you?”
“For outing me?” Cody asked. I nodded silently. He turned onto the narrow highway. “Pretty much a ten when you called me this morning,” he said. “After seeing the way things stand in the Cassopolis household . . .” He shrugged. “Maybe a three. You were right. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how bad things were there. And I didn’t realize friendship was so important to you.”
“Jen was right, too,” I said softly. “You do make a beautiful wolf.”
He shot me another glance. “Thanks. You ready to talk about this temptation scenario yet?”
I shook my head. “There’s not enough time.”
“Okay.”
On the far side of the bridge, Stefan’s Harley was idling in the parking lot of the little roadside market that sold fresh local produce and flowers. He pulled out and fell in behind us as we crossed the river, following us to a cottage in East Pemkowet only a couple blocks away from Mr. Leary’s place.
We held a quick conference on the sidewalk in front of the cottage. I still wasn’t sure how much I trusted Stefan, but we were running out of options. He readily agreed to send one of his lieutenants to Jerry Dunham’s house in search of possible hostages.
“I will send Johnny on the pretext of delivering Dunham’s back wages,” he said. “If there is anyone being held captive on the premises, he should be able to sense it at close range.”
I had an uncomfortable thought. “It won’t send him ravening, will it?”
Stefan raised his brows. “The possibility exists. It would depend upon the degree of suffering to which he was exposed. But if it does, you will have your answer, will you not?”
“I guess.” I hadn’t mentioned the suspected nature of the hostage. “What happens to the hostage if it does?”
“Nothing worse than has already occurred,” he said. “Either the captors would share their bounty or there would be a struggle for dominance among those involved, with the winner continuing to feed upon the hostage’s suffering. But I think it is unlikely. Like many of the unfeeling, the blank Jerry Dunham has a well-developed sense of self-preservation. I do not think he would keep a victim hostage under his roof.”
“What happens to the loser if there’s a fight?” Cody inquired.
Stefan glanced at him. “The loser would seek . . . another source, until he or she was contained and the ravening allowed to pass.”
“Does it always?” I asked. “Pass, I mean.”
He hesitated. “No. Not if the exposure was prolonged and sustained. It would take many months of solitary confinement, but it is possible for one of our kind to starve. To succumb to madness, to devour our own essence until nothing remains and the corporeal body vanishes. It is one of the only ways in which our existence can truly be ended.”
Huh.
“Your way is kinder.” Stefan nodded at dauda-dagr hanging from my left hip in its sheath. “Swifter.” A faint, wistful look crossed his face, so briefly I might have imagined it. “And perhaps it may grant us a second chance at heaven or hell rather than the eternal void of nonexistence.”
Well, okay, then. I cleared my throat. “It’s not my way, by the way. I haven’t killed anyone.”
“And yet the dagger is blooded since last we met, is it not?” Stefan asked in a courteous tone. “Or do my senses betray me?”
“Um . . . no.”
“Decision time,” Cody interjected impatiently. “Do we take the risk or not?”
“As I said, I believe the risk to be small,” Stefan repeated. “But the choice is yours. I do have one request in exchange for the favor. I wish to accompany you on the interview of Mary Sudbury’s sister.”
Cody gave me a suspicious look.
“I didn’t tell him!” I protested. “How did you know?”
Stefan pointed to the mailbox with the street address and then held up a cell phone. “I looked up the address. The resident is listed as one Emma Sudbury.”
“Oh.” I felt sheepish. Somehow, a centuries-old ghoul using modern technology seemed like cheating. “How did you know it was her sister?”
He smiled. “Statistically, it was likelihood. But it was a guess, which you have now twice confirmed.”
Oh, great. Good job, Daisy.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Cody sounded disgusted. “Fine. Let’s do it. Call your henchman and send him to check out Dunham’s place. Let’s go see if Emma Sudbury has any idea where her sister can be found. You can serve as our human lie detector, Ludovic.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
I hadn’t had time to form any expectations of what the female ghoul Mary Sudbury’s sister might be like, but if I had, I’m pretty sure they would have been wildly off base. We traipsed up the front path of the cottage through a neglected, dying garden. Thick brocade drapes curtained the windows. I saw them twitch at our approach, the narrowest of peepholes drawing closed.
Cody rang the doorbell.
For a long time, there was no answer. At last, the door opened a few inches to reveal a chain-bolt lock and a slice of an elderly woman’s face, haggard and fearful, one red-rimmed eye showing. “Yes?” she asked in a quavering voice. “What is it?”
“Emma Sudbury?” Cody asked politely.
“Yes?”
He showed her his badge. “I’m Officer Fairfax. These are my associates, Miss Johanssen and Mr. Ludovic. May we come in?”
The chain-bolt lock remained in place. “Why?”
Cody kept his tone gentle. “We just have a few questions for you, ma’am. It’s about your sister, Mary.”
The rheumy eye blinked, watering. “Oh, dear God! What has she done now?”
Good question, I thought.
“We’re not sure,” Cody said. “But—”
“Emma.” Stefan’s voice dropped an octave. It was beyond gentle: low, deep, and soothing. Once again, I could feel that calm, cool stillness radiating from him. “It’s all right. It’s been hard, I know. So very, very difficult. And I can tell that you have tried, my dear. You’ve tried so very hard. But it’s all right. You don’t have to carry the burden alone. We’re here to help.”
It shouldn’t have worked, of course. Now, Cody, okay. That I could see. Handsome Officer Down-low looked reassuring in his dark blue policeman’s uniform. There shouldn’t have been anything remotely reassuring about a tall, ice-eyed ghoul with a vaguely European accent clad in motorcycle boots and a black leather vest with outlaw-biker-gang colors turning up on an old lady’s doorstep and telling her everything was all right.
But it did work.
Emma Sudbury’s chin quivered. She closed the door long enough to disengage the chain, and opened it to admit us.
At close range, she looked even worse. Her skin was sallow, her thinning white hair lank and yellowish, plastered to her skull. She closed the door, her gnarled fingers trembling as she knitted them together. “Have you found her? Have you found Mary? Oh, God! What has she done?”
My heart ached for her, and I had an itchy feeling along my shoulder blades. If I’d had wings I would have wrapped them around her. “That’s just it, ma’am,” I said softly. “We’re looking for Mary. What can you tell us?”
Her voice shrank to a whisper. “She’s gone.”
“Can you tell us—” Cody began.
Stefan held up one hand, unexpected compassion in his ice-blue eyes. “It’s all right. It’s your story, too, Emma. Will you tell us? Will you let us help you?”
She did.
And yeah, it was a pretty terrible story.
Mary Sudbury, younger of two obedient daughters raised in a Pentecostal household in southern Indiana, had wed young in the 1950s in an environment wherein women were encouraged to submit to and obey their husbands, even if they were harsh and abusive, as Mary’s husband prove
d to be. Still, she did her duty. She left her family and moved with her husband to a suburb of Chicago, bore him a son, and did her best to raise the infant until the day her mind snapped and she heard the voice of God telling her what to do to save herself and her infant child.
“She drowned him in the bathtub,” Emma whispered. “Drowned the babe and cut her own wrists. But she came back.”
“She was a true believer,” Stefan murmured. “And neither heaven nor hell would have her.”
She nodded. “She came back.”
He touched her liver-spotted hand. “I know.”
“Why? And how?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “No one does.”
I got angry. And yes, it was predictable, and yes, it’s my go-to emotion, my own particular default mode. But if I was right, someone or something was suffering for Mary Sudbury’s sins. If you ask me, heaven and hell have a lot to answer for. “Do you know where she is now?”
Emma Sudbury gave me a stricken look. “Gone. I tried. All these years, I’ve tried to provide for her. God knows, I’ve suffered.”
“But she met someone, didn’t she?” Cody prompted her. “Someone like her?”
She nodded again. “She said it was love. True love, even though it was forbidden to the likes of them.”
I glanced at Stefan. “Forbidden?”
He shrugged. “Ill-advised, for reasons you and I have discussed. No doubt that is why Ray confided only in a mortal companion. Had I known, I would certainly have done my best to end it.”
“What can you tell us about him?” Cody asked. “Name? Description? Where did they meet?”
“She said his name was Raymond.” Emma shook her head. “But I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you. Mary was . . . secretive. Most of the time, she was docile. But every year, around the anniversary of . . . of her son’s death, it got bad. I couldn’t control her. I’d find her . . . I’d find her in places where you’d find children. Playgrounds, schools. Staring at them with that . . . that hunger.” She shuddered. “And I was always afraid . . . She didn’t, did she? It’s not a missing child you’re looking for, is it?”
Dark Currents: Agent of Hel Page 22
