Killer's Gambit

by Hermione Stark

  Going to see Theo proved to be a mistake. All he wanted to talk about was the research that he had done on the Angel of Death, and this was the last thing I wanted to think about. I knew with absolute certainty that I was going to kill the Devil Claw, and I was hoping that would put an end to this whole killer urge thing. I wanted the haunting feelings that had been keeping me up at nights, the thirst to kill something, to die out. I wanted to move on with my life and be normal.

  Theo was in no mood to let me bury my head in the sand. “There is no concrete information about the Angel of Death,” he said. “He or she is thought to be a legend. All of the information is hearsay. We know that the angelli are thought to be descendants of the Angels themselves, and are extremely distant relatives with powers that are far diluted.”

  “Death by words,” I muttered. “Theo, you’re killing me here.”

  He ignored me, continuing, “And we know that the baena — succubae and incubae — regard themselves as descendants of Lilith. Some schools of thought claimed that Lilith, a demon, was a dark angel. However all of the stories of an actual Angel of Death himself, or herself, vary throughout each of the major religions. There is no record of there being any descendants of that particular angel, so therefore we have to ask ourselves whether you think that you are actually the angel herself.”

  Theo sounded excited. There was nothing that he liked more than reading the many old books that he owned. I sensed that he was only just getting started, and I wanted to head him off before he made me spend hours sitting there listening to him. So I asked a purposefully stupid question to annoy him.

  “What about vampires?” I said lightly. “They’re dark beings, right? The undead. Creatures of death. Evil, and all that. Does the Angel of Death have anything to do with that?”

  Theo waved my suggestion away with mild irritation. “We have nothing to suggest that the Angel of Death herself is evil,” he insisted. “The various accounts speak of an avenging angel, who while she may have dealt death, only did so in an avenging capacity to protect the people she had been sent to guard. Therefore there is no need to believe that the Angel of Death is evil in herself.”

  It was weird that Theo was speaking of me as if I was this creature of mythology when I was sitting right there in front of him being a perfectly ordinary me.

  “Really, Theo,” I said. “Let’s just forget I ever said anything about it. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I made the whole thing up in my mind.”

  Theo acted like I had not spoken. “Vampirism is a genetic disease mutation, often to humans in particular, which is transmitted through drinking a vampire’s blood when the victim is in a weakened state, usually drained of blood, to the extent that they are almost dead. This is so that the mutation can take effect on the weakened and dying body, and reanimate it. Werewolf-ism is also a genetic mutation, but this time on a living being, often a human. Goblins are the other major type of Otherworld beings that are found here on Earth, but they are actually a species unto themselves that are native to Otherworld. These three species do not claim to be descended from angels, so we can rule them out. Similarly the various other types of beings native to Otherworld claim to be creatures of magic but not necessarily descended from—”

  “Theo!” I said sharply, interrupting him in mid-flow. “I really did not come here to speak to you about any of this. I wanted to talk to you about the Steffane Ronin case.”

  “Then it’s even more important that we should discuss this,” insisted Theo. “It’s important in your psychological recovery after you slay the Devil Claw Killer, if that is indeed what you have decided to do. If you really were the Angel of Death, who was sent to slay enemies, then it’s no wonder you feel a compulsion to kill the Devil Claw Killer. In understanding this you’re going to be able to reconcile yourself to having to murder another being.” Theo’s voice finally quavered and lost its sense of conviction. He did not seem to have reconciled himself to this idea of me murdering another being. Perhaps that was why he is so intent on talking to me about it. It was him who was having trouble with this whole thing.

  “You really don’t need to worry about me Theo,” I told him. “It turns out I have a secret weapon after all.” I told him about the sword.

  This seemed to agitate him more rather than have my intended effect of calming him. “But this is incredible,” he said. “None of my reading spoke of a sword. I really have to look into this. You said it appeared at the moment the vampire Marielle tried to kill you? Which means that it appeared in your moment of greatest need? That means you should practice with a sword, so you will be ready for it and know how to use it when it next appears.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I said to him. “And I promise that I’ll practice but I don’t have time right now.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he argued. “You have to make time. You have to prepare! We are speaking of an experienced and highly brutal serial killer. You can’t go into this situation empty-handed. It’s far too dangerous. Before, I thought this potential confrontation was a long way off, but if everything you said is true, then you may be facing your nemesis far sooner than either of us expected.”

  “Chill out, Theo. I will prepare. In fact I plan on spending the rest of the day doing it. And anyway, even if Devil Claw did hurt me, all I have to do is survive long enough to crawl into a hideaway and pass out. It’s a good job I can magically heal while I’m unconscious. It will be fine. Trust me.”

  “Not if he kills you. Not if you pass out from your injuries during the fight. You will be entirely at his mercy.” Theo frowned at me. “This is no time to make light of the matter, young lady!”

  I giggled. “Did you just call me young lady? Hadn’t we just been discussing that I’m supposed to be the Angel of Death? That makes me a pretty old lady by my count!”

  Talking about my sword appearing at my moment of greatest need has cheered me right up. The sword had slid into a vampire’s notoriously hard skin so effortlessly. Which meant that maybe it would slide into DCK like butter too. I didn’t really have to know how to fight with a sword. I just had to know how to stick the pointy end in. But there was some more stuff that I need to do before my confrontation with DCK. Because it was not going to be enough to only kill him.

  I need some information from him. My mother Magda’s letter had said that she feared that DCK was hunting me because he wanted my navelstone. I had to know if that was true. How and what did he know about me? And who else knew? To find out, I was going to have to tie him up and torture him, horrific as that sounded. And if I was going to do that, I needed somewhere to do it in. Somewhere that couldn’t be linked back to me or to Theo, since it would be the crime scene that I killed him in.

  I had seen it on one of the TV shows that I liked to watch. They called it a kill room. I needed my own kill room. And I knew where I was going to find one.

  I planted my hands on the counter and hoisted myself up to plant a quick kiss on Theo’s cheek. “Thanks for worrying about me, Teddy bear. You really know how to make a girl feel cared for. But I am going to be just fine. You’ll see. I’ve gotta go now.”

  With those words, I left the magic shop, and made my way around London to various hardware stores, purchasing a bunch of things with cash, like plastic wrap. A lot of it.

  When I was done with my purchases, I made my way to the tube station and across London, weighed down by the heavy new backpack I had bought, filled with all the tools of a killer’s trade. I got out at Shoreditch station and trudged through the streets of East London, until I reached the abandoned office building that I had once walked through with the Remi during a case. We had been hunting for a missing teenage girl and a killer werewolf.

  The building was completely locked off, but during our search I had discovered a shutter closing off a broken window that could be opened from the outside. It was one level up, a tricky climb, especially with my backpack. I let myself into the building and trudged up the interior stairs to the very to
p level. It was kind of dark in here, but I didn’t mind that.

  I didn’t know how I was going to lead DCK here exactly, but I would think of it. For now I had to prepare. I selected one of the rooms on the upper level and set about laying down plastic sheeting all over the floor and sticking it to the walls. It was a time-consuming task, particularly since I had to be very careful to make sure that I didn’t get my fingerprints or any of my DNA anywhere. I had covered my hands with plastic gloves and my hair with a plastic shower cap. I had stifled several sneezes from all of the dust everywhere. Most annoying was having to snip each piece of sticky tape with scissors instead of using my teeth, which would have been far quicker. Prepping a kill room was far more laborious and annoying than I had thought it would be.

  I had bought along various tools and knives as torture instruments, and after several minutes of debate with myself, I decided to lay them out on one side ready for use. I might need them on hand to subdue DCK once I got him into this room. Mostly I was hoping that my sword would appear, and I could use that instead. I covered the weapons up with a bunch of garbage bags when I was done. Hopefully DCK wouldn’t see them and decide to use them on me.

  When I was finally done, I stood back to appreciate my handiwork. Any normal person would be feeling chilled by this whole thing, but I felt positively merry. I was going to bring an end to one of the worst serial killers the Earth had ever seen. If that wasn’t a reason to celebrate, I didn’t know what was.

  Grinning, I turned towards the door, finally ready to leave, and got the shock of my life.

  Finch Greyiron was standing in the doorway looking at me. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyebrows were raised in sceptical bemusement. “You missed a spot,” he said.

  Chapter 22

  DIANA

  Late the next morning I was on a train zooming through the countryside towards Edinburgh. It was Friday already. I was impatient to get the interview with Constance Ashbeck over and done with. I was jittery and impatient and far too excited to sit still, so being on a train was the worst thing that I could subject myself to.

  Constance Ashbeck was going to tell me what I needed to know. She had to. I had not prepared my damn kill room for nothing.

  Nothing was exactly what I thought I would be using it for when I had laid eyes on Finch standing in the doorway of the kill room yesterday. My navelstone had vibrated fiercely the moment I saw him and Finch had been damn lucky that the sword had not appeared in my hand. I was sure it would have slain him on the spot.

  As I had mentally debating the various options of what to do, including tying him up and leaving him there until I had decided how to deal with him, he had said, “You missed a spot,” and pointed to the back of the door, which I had failed to coat in plastic wrap.

  I had raised my eyebrows in enquiry. “Experienced with kill rooms, are you?”

  “Not exactly,” he had said. “But maybe I will be after I find the guy who took Zezi.”

  He had meant it too. I could tell that by the feel of the psychic music coming off him, which had been quiet and intense and full of a quietly leashed rage. Finch wanted to find the people who had taken Zezi and he was not averse to dealing out harm to them. Looking at him, this defied belief. He looked nothing more than a harmless chilled-out a young university student who should be playing a guitar and smoking weed and passing out from getting drunk. There was definitely more to this guy than met the eye, and I didn’t just mean that he was half goblin.

  I had decided to trust Finch. I hadn’t told him what I planned to do with the room, but I had told him it would be in his best interest to never come back to it and to never speak of it to anyone. I had believed him when he said that he would not. In exchange for his silence I head promised that I would use my psychic skills to help him find Zezi — as soon as my DCK case was over. He hadn’t wanted to wait, but I told him that there was simply no way that I was going to be able to concentrate on anything else. I would be of no use. He had grudgingly backed off.

  Plagued by the thought of what I wanted to do with Devil Claw once I got my hands on him, the journey crawled by. I didn’t want to think about my doubts about my ability to take him on. I just wanted to believe that when the moment arrived, I would be prepared. That this was meant to be. That everything would be fine, just like it had been in the Ronin house when Marielle came at me.

  Several hours later I arrived at the hospital in Edinburgh to find Storm waiting impatiently outside of Grace Newman’s room. The doctor was in there with her, and had refused to let Storm in until she was finished. Storm told me that Remi and Monroe were speaking to the forensic team, and that Leo was off work given that it was the day before the full moon.

  Finally the doctor came out of the room and told us we could have fifteen minutes with Mrs Newman, but we were not to upset her. Storm reassured the doctor that we would be as gentle as could be. The doctor practically swooned at his smile. We entered the room, and I shut the door firmly behind myself and Storm.

  Inside, Grace Newman was sitting propped up against many plump pillows in a bed that was very nice for a hospital bed. She was exceptionally thin, gaunt even. She had a bandage on her cheek and another one on her arm, and seem to have escaped very lightly for an encounter with the Devil Claw Killer himself. He could have snapped her like a twig without even trying. Clearly he had not made any attempt at all to actually kill her. He had wanted her fully functioning so that she could tell us whatever she knew.

  But she had no idea about that. This woman believed that she was Grace Newman now, and she thought that we believed it too.

  It was not only her bed that was nice. So was the silk robe she was wearing and the furnishings she was surrounded with. In fact, the whole room looked more like it belonged in a hotel than a hospital. It seemed that someone was providing the best of care for her.

  However there were no flowers on the bedside table next to her. No cards either. No rich new lover by her side, which she could have easily had given that she was still beautiful. All those years being fed tiny drops of the vampire Gaius Ronin’s blood — her reward for being his blood-slave — had done much to delay the effects of time on her face and body. Time had caught up with her somewhat these six years, but she was a still lovely. A lovely lonely woman in a lavish room, and an angry one too by the look on her face.

  “I have already spoken to the other officers,” she said. “I’ve given the my account of what happened. I see no benefit to having to relive the whole experience with you.” Her voice was shaking. She had addressed her comments to Storm, clearly thinking that I was of little consequence.

  “Nice room you’ve got for yourself here,” I said. “Who is paying for it?”

  She looked astonished at my tone. Her mouth opened, and then it snapped shut again. And then it opened. “I want that woman out of here,” she said to Storm, her voice trembling. “I am a victim! You can’t treat me like this!”

  I stalked right up to her bed and took a seat in the chair beside it. Up close, the hollows beneath her eyes were dark and made her look even more fragile, even more the victim that she wanted us to believe that she was. “And what about your victim?” I said. “What about Leonie Ashbeck?”

  Her eyes went wide, and then they flicked from me to Storm and back again. Her mouth trembled. “Who?” she said in a faint voice.

  I gave her a satisfied smile like a cat that got the cream. “Leonie, your niece. Or have you forgotten her already?”

  Storm had come to stand beside me, and he spoke in a far more reasonable tone. “We know who you really are, Grace,” he said. “You may not remember me, but we met once a long time ago, when you were called Constance.”

  Her gaze fixed on his face and after a while her stoic expression crumpled. She had recognized Storm, and clearly with that memory had come an influx of other unpleasant ones. She took several deep breaths, clearly trying to halt the wave of panic that was coming her way. When she spoke again, she ma
naged to inject the reediest thread of steel back into her voice.

  “Why are you here?” she said to him. “I thought this was about the attack on me yesterday. You have no right to come looking for me in relation to anything else. You have no right to come here. Do you know how hard it was for me to leave that other life behind?”

  She was not lying. I could sense the rage and the confusion emanating off her. And the fear too. She had not expected a meeting with her past today. Behind all those roiling emotions was something else that she was trying to hide. I couldn’t pin it down. She was feeling too many things all at once. So I reached out to touch her hand.

  It was cold to the touch and felt thin and fragile. She tugged it away immediately. But not before I saw something that she had not meant for me to see. A vision in which she had been younger, half the age she was now, the spitting image of her young niece at the age Leonie had died. She had been in a hospital bed like this, all alone like she was now, wearing a hospital gown, her face flushed with perspiration, panting and writhing as she struggled with the wave of pain gripping her hugely swollen abdomen.

  She didn’t know what I had seen, because she said in a small voice, “Did Gaius send you?”