Kane might be too busy to deal with local problems right now. But Kane wasn’t the only one who could help. I had a friend in the Boston PD. A good-looking friend with curly blond hair and blue eyes. Maybe even a bit more than a friend. As soon as I got home, I was going to call Detective Daniel Costello.
7
I SAT IN A COFFEE SHOP NEAR GOVERNMENT CENTER, WAITING for Daniel. I couldn’t describe what happened over the phone, so I’d asked him to meet me, even for a few minutes. Sometimes, you need someone there. Kind eyes, a sympathetic tilt of the head—sometimes those things can help push back the horror.
I wrapped both hands around a mug of strong coffee. I’d changed out of my borrowed clothes into something more normal for me: black jeans and a sweater. Yellow. I needed something cheerful today. I was having trouble getting warm past the deep, lingering bone-chill that had taken hold when I found T.J.’s ring and realized what it meant.
For the moment, I pushed that out of my mind. I’d have to go through it all over again when Daniel got here, but not now. Not yet.
I sat in a booth at the rear of the shop. I liked to sit with my back to the wall whenever possible, giving myself the widest possible view of a room and its entrances. It’s an action-movie cliché, yeah, but when your job puts you in situations where all kinds of nasty jumps out at you, it makes sense. Today, it seemed particularly important.
Had T.J. seen his killer approach? What the hell could have done that to him?
I wasn’t thinking about that now, I reminded myself.
The coffee shop was the kind I like best. Not flashy and trendy, but old-school Boston, the kind of place where you ordered coffee, not a half-caff soy-milk latte or double espresso mocha cappuccino whatever. The black-and-yellow floor tiles had probably been black-and-white once, but not in my lifetime. The counter was edged in chrome and fronted by those round stools that make kids spin around and around until they get dizzy. The bustling waitresses called everyone “hon.”
“Need a refill, hon?” one asked me now. I nodded. I’d managed only half an hour’s sleep, and that had been disrupted by a nightmare. It was going to take lots of refills to keep me vertical until I could crawl back into bed. I ordered a cranberry-nut muffin to put something solid in my stomach and checked the clock on the wall. Ten twenty-five. Daniel had said he’d try to get here between ten and ten thirty.
He was true to his word. The door opened to reveal his silhouette against the dazzling light outside. He came into focus when he entered: the blond curls, a little longer than you’d expect to see on a cop, the kid-in-a-candy-store smile, the eyes that were almost the same blue as the January sky outside. Seeing him reminded me there was a normal world out there. I hated pulling him into the horrors of mine, but I didn’t know who else could help.
“Hi.” Daniel slid into the booth across from me and pulled off his gloves. For a homicide detective, he didn’t have any qualms about sitting with his back to the door. Maybe we hadn’t seen the same action movies. He put a hand over mine. Although he’d just come in from the cold, his hand was warm. “This is a nice surprise,” he said. “I never get to see you during the day.”
A nice surprise. He’d change his mind about that once he heard what I had to say. Gently, I pulled back my hand. “I wish this was just a coffee date, but I need your professional help.”
The waitress brought over my muffin, called Daniel “hon,” and took his order for coffee. When she came back with the pot, she refilled my mug for good measure.
“So what’s up?” He sat back, waiting, letting me figure out how to start.
I opted for the direct approach. “A zombie was killed in the Zone this morning. Torn to pieces and … liquefied, somehow.”
Daniel blinked. “Jesus. Where?”
“Creature Comforts. I found him.” What was left of him.
“Vicky, I’m sorry. That must have been awful.” He took my hand again and squeezed it once. “What happened?”
I repeated the story, the same way I’d told it to Sykes. Daniel listened attentively. When I’d finished, he ran a hand through his curls.
“And you have no idea what killed him?”
“None at all. I’ve never seen anything like it, Daniel. Never.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. There’s not much I can do. It’s JHP’s jurisdiction.”
“That’s the problem. The Goon Squad was there, but two human detectives showed up and stopped the investigation.”
Daniel’s blue-sky eyes darkened a shade. “Hampson.”
I nodded. “That’s what the detective said—their authority came straight from the commissioner.”
He sighed. “There’s still not much I can do. Hampson won’t listen to me. I’m lucky to have my job after what happened in New Hampshire.” Back in the fall, a crazy biogeneticist intent on studying shapeshifters kidnapped my ten-year-old niece Maria—my sister Gwen’s kid—and held her at a research facility in New Hampshire, a state where PAs have no rights. Daniel helped me get her back, pissing off several law enforcement agencies in the process.
“There’s got to be someone in your department who can do something,” I said. “It was a homicide, after all.” I didn’t think zombicide was an official word. “Kane can’t help right now, and I don’t know who else to turn to.”
Something flickered across Daniel’s face when I mentioned Kane. “Let me talk to the CSI guys,” he said. “The way you describe the scene, it sounds like something no one’s ever come across before. Even with the investigation called off, I’ll bet somebody kept some evidence, out of curiosity if nothing else. I’ll ask around, but I can’t promise anything.”
“Thanks, Daniel. It seems wrong to shove T.J. aside as though … as though he never existed.”
He nodded. “I understand. I’ll see what I can find out.” He checked his watch, then drained his coffee cup and pulled on his jacket. “I’d better get back to work. How about dinner tonight?”
“Don’t you mean breakfast? I’m going straight to bed after I leave here.”
He flashed a “wish I could join you” smile, but he didn’t say the words. Not that either one of us had gotten anywhere near the other’s bed. I blushed anyway.
“Okay, breakfast. We’ll find a place that’ll whip you up an omelet. Say around seven?”
“It sounds like fun, but I can’t. I’m giving Tina a lesson tonight.”
“What time will you be done?”
“Nine-ish.” A little late for breakfast, I thought. Dinner, too. “Anyway, I’m working. I’ve got a Drude extermination in the Fenway, and I need to be at the client’s condo at ten to set up.”
He stared into the distance for a few seconds, then shook his head. “I’ve got to be up at six thirty tomorrow. So I guess a nightcap won’t work, either.”
This was why I had so few dates—with anyone, of any species. “There’s no way to tell how long the extermination will take. Depends on how many Drudes—could be midnight, could be three A.M.”
“Another time, then.” A wistful half-smile curled his lips.
“Okay.”
Daniel stood. He stepped toward me, bent slightly, and brushed his lips against my cheek. One arm found its way around my shoulders in an almost-hug. I closed my eyes and soaked in his warmth.
“Promise?” His voice, soft in my ear, was as warm as his flesh.
All my words seemed to have fled, so I nodded.
“Good.” When I opened my eyes again, he’d straightened and was smiling at me. Then his eyes changed, and he put on his cop face. I watched him walk out of the coffee shop and into the bright, cold day. But the warmth of him lingered on my skin.
I SNUGGLED UNDER MY COMFORTER, TRYING TO CONVINCE myself I was sleepy. But it was no good. I’d been tossing and turning for half an hour, and I couldn’t get warm. Any warmth I’d borrowed from Daniel was long gone. My toes were icy, even with socks on, and it’s impossible to fall asleep with cold feet. It didn’t help that I’d stayed
to finish my coffee after Daniel left, and then let the waitress refill my mug one last time. How could I say no when she called me “hon”?
Too much coffee and chilly toes were just excuses, and I knew it. The truth? I was afraid to fall asleep. Now I understood how my nightmare-plagued clients felt. But it wasn’t a couple of pesky Drudes that had invaded my dream; this was a Hellion. The one I thought I’d sent back to Hell for good.
I didn’t understand how Difethwr had trespassed in my dreamscape. The Hellion was bound to me; I bore its mark on my arm. I’d strengthened that bond myself a few months ago, in order to banish the demon from Boston. It was a risky thing to do—as far as I knew, none of the Cerddorion had ever attempted such a thing. But my gambit had worked. Difethwr had stayed away. For weeks, I’d been free of the near-uncontrollable rages that my demon mark sometimes caused. The mark hadn’t even twinged. Difethwr was trapped in Hell.
Or had been, until it showed up in my dream.
Somehow, the Hellion had used me as a portal to bypass Boston’s protective shield. That was the point of destroying my watch. Difethwr wanted to demonstrate that what I saw in my dreamscape was the real thing, not some dream-image. Difethwr was real, the watch was real. The crow that delivered it was probably real, too.
In Welsh mythology, crows are a bad omen, symbolizing impending death. That omen had sure as hell come to pass.
Damn it, I was supposed to protect this city from creatures like Hellions. Not throw open my dreamscape like a door and invite them in.
But some things didn’t fit. The attack on T.J. didn’t match the Destroyer’s style. To kill, Difethwr shot flames from its eyes, mouth, and hands, burning up its victim’s soul. T.J.’s body should have been intact, but with hellfire raging inside. That was how Difethwr killed my father. But I’d never seen the Destroyer—or anything—attack in a way that was even remotely like what happened to T.J.
I turned onto my back and stared into the darkness.
I needed to talk to Aunt Mab. She’d trained me, and no one knew more about demons. I should have fessed up months ago, after I strengthened my bond to the Hellion. And I’d meant to, I really had, but when days and then weeks went by without a peep from Difethwr, I thought maybe I’d vanquished it.
That was too proud, and more than a little stupid. Because Difethwr was sure as hell peeping now.
You’d think that, at twenty-eight, I’d have lost my terror of a scolding from my aunt. But of course you’d only think such a thing if you didn’t know Mab. She was strict and stern. She made no allowances for even the teensiest mistake. But there was no better demon fighter. And if there was one person who could help me figure out what was going on, it was Mab.
I needed to talk to her. Now.
The Cerddorion have a psychic connection that functions best through the pathways of the mind that open in sleep. When Gwen and I were teenagers, we called this connection the dream phone, and we used it to chat about boys, clothes, and music long after Mom had turned out the lights. The dream phone was the quickest and most reliable way to get in touch with Aunt Mab, who’d never bothered to install a real telephone at Maenllyd, her remote manor house in north Wales.
It didn’t matter that it was early evening in Wales. Mab could communicate by dream phone even while awake. I wasn’t that advanced in my skills; I had to be asleep, or close to it, to place or receive a call. So lying board-straight in my bed, wide-awake and unable to relax, wasn’t the best idea right now.
But I couldn’t help it. Worrying about a Hellion sneaking into Boston through my dreams wasn’t much of a sleeping pill. And taking a real sleeping pill would leave me too zonked to make the call.
I willed myself to sleep—a guaranteed way to keep insomnia going. I tried counting sheep. Has that ever actually worked for anyone? I got to three hundred and forty-two before I gave up.
I was still cold. Maybe a warm bath would soothe me to slumber. Reluctantly, I threw back the covers. The bedroom was freezing. Juliet liked the apartment cold when she slept in her coffin, but this was ridiculous. When I clicked on the bedside lamp, I could see my breath form little puffs of steam. It felt like Juliet had opened all the windows to the frigid night air. I pulled on my bathrobe and stuck my feet into slippers, then opened the bedroom door and padded out into the hallway. It was even colder out here. I’d turn up the temperature a few degrees before drawing my bath. The way it was now, stepping into my nice, warm bath would feel like plunging into a tub of ice cubes. I headed for the living room to adjust the thermostat.
In the hallway, I paused as a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature prickled the back of my neck. A low murmur of voices flowed from the living room. Was Juliet watching TV? It didn’t sound like it. She always turned the sound way up, forgetting she had a roommate who might happen to be sleeping. Besides, one of the voices sounded like Juliet’s. Sort of. She spoke in a hushed monotone, like she was chanting. Other voices—two? more?—chanted something in response. I couldn’t make out the words, but they didn’t sound like English. I listened. Some kind of ritual? The voices would say something, and Juliet repeated it.
Half-blind in the dim light that spilled from my bedroom, I crept forward and tried to peer into the darkness. Juliet sat in a chair, facing me. Her eyes were closed, but her lips moved. Beside her stood a robed figure. It was tall, over six feet, and a hood shaded its face. Icy waves of bitter cold rolled off the creature. It reached out a skeletal hand and touched Juliet’s chest, over her heart.
At its touch, her eyes flew open. Immediately, they focused on me. “Vicky!” she gasped in that strange voice. The creature turned. Its hood fell back, revealing a skull-like face with massive yellow fangs. The thing snarled and launched itself through the air. It was like being tackled by an iceberg. A brickbat of ice, an explosion of stars, and then total blackness.
8
SOMETHING WAS BEEPING. SHORT, SHARP BURSTS OF HIGH-PITCHED sound pushed their way into my throbbing brain, piercing my consciousness like arrows. Eyes closed, I reached out and hit at various objects on my nightstand until I managed to turn off the alarm.
I opened one eye. It made no difference whatsoever, thanks to the blackout shades. But when I turned on my side, the glowing red numbers on my bedside clock read 6:00 P.M., the time I’d set the alarm for. I’d been out about four hours. The last thing I remembered, I’d been attacked in the hallway, but here I was, tucked into my bed and feeling like someone had split my skull open with an ax. Gingerly, I touched the pain’s epicenter on the left side of my forehead. There was no goose egg, not even a bump. In fact, the pain was already fading. By the time I sat up, it was nearly gone.
The apartment was warmer. As I got out of bed, it felt downright toasty. I opened my bedroom door and listened. No chanting, but the clink of utensils drifted from the kitchen. I picked up the bronze-bladed dagger I kept on my nightstand and held it ready as I edged down the hallway, sliding my back along the wall. I stopped short of the living room and peered around the corner. The room was empty. On the coffee table, Kane’s roses had all wilted, slumped over as if in defeat. Still clutching the dagger, I crept through the living room to the kitchen doorway.
Juliet sat alone at the black-and-chrome table, sipping coffee.
Feeling paranoid, I tucked the dagger into my waistband at the small of my back and entered the room.
“Evening.” I took a mug from the cupboard. Inhaling the fragrant steam as I filled it with coffee, I felt almost normal.
Juliet looked up from the paper she was reading—News of the Dead, a real tabloid rag but the only newspaper specifically for the paranormal community—and smiled a closed-lipped vampire smile. She went back to the paper.
“So, um, what was going on here today?” I asked.
“Oh, did I wake you when I came in? I tried to be quiet.”
I stared at her.
Juliet, normally imperturbable, fidgeted, cleared her throat, and took a sip of coffee. She picked up her pa
per and put it down again. “All right. So I usually don’t come in after dawn. But thanks to those Goons, I got thrown off my stride last night. It took me ages to find a meal. We went back to his place, and by the time I left the sun was already rising.”
“Juliet, this isn’t about whatever time you got home. What were you doing in the living room? What were those creatures?”
She took another sip of coffee, her eyes boring into mine over the rim of her cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I nearly choked on my coffee. Vampires aren’t exactly famous for their honesty, but I couldn’t believe she was lying to me. “Are you kidding? You were chanting with a bunch of skeletons with industrial-sized choppers. I got attacked in my own hallway, for God’s sake.”
Juliet gave me a long, level look. “You must have been dreaming.”
I opened my mouth to deny it, to remind Juliet I never dreamed unless I wanted to. But then I remembered the Destroyer. Two dreams in a single day? Yesterday, I’d have said it was impossible. Today, I wasn’t so sure. I’d woken up in my own bed, with a fast-fading headache and no sign of injury. All Cerddorion are fast healers, so it was hard to know whether I’d really been knocked on the head.
But I’d been unconscious, not asleep. Hadn’t I?
Juliet flipped a page in the News of the Dead. She wasn’t giving anything away.
My need to talk to Aunt Mab was growing more urgent by the minute. Damn it, why didn’t she have a real phone? It would take too long to call the village pub and ask them to send her a message. And I couldn’t use the dream phone now. I had to meet Tina in less than an hour.
Juliet studied her paper intently. Maybe she wasn’t lying. Maybe I had dreamed the whole thing.
If Mab couldn’t tell me how to regain control of my dreams, I didn’t know what I’d do.
AS I ENTERED THE LOBBY OF TINA’S GROUP HOME, MUSIC blasted from the lounge. The zombie house mother, who sat reading a romance novel behind the reception desk, seemed oblivious. She regarded me over her reading glasses, smoothed a strand of gray hair that had escaped her bun, and smiled absently. “Tina’s in the lounge, dear.” She licked her thumb and turned the page, then reached for an apple from the bowl by her right elbow. The bowl by her left elbow held half a dozen cores.
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