Bloodstone (33 page)

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.

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.

He checked his watch. I didn’t turn around, but I could feel Kane dash from the staircase.

“Should be through in about five, six minutes,” said the attendant. I thanked him and bought a ticket from the machine. I fed the ticket into the fare gate and passed through to the platform.

“Have a nice night,” the attendant said.

“You, too.”

“I will soon as I get home.” He grinned, displaying a gold tooth.

The narrow platform faced the tracks, where the train would arrive. At the back of the platform was a display of some old trolley cars, from when the T was called the Boston Light Railway. I pretended to be interested in them. The trolley in front of me was orange and cream, a bit dented and old-fashioned but not all that different from a modern subway car. The old trolleys sat on tracks that disappeared into a tunnel that ran behind the wall, curving out of sight. Was that the abandoned tunnel? I didn’t see any other candidates.

A fence separated the platform from the trolley display. It would be easy enough to climb except for one thing: The station attendant was watching me.

I turned my back on the old trolleys, strolled to the edge of the platform, and peered down the tunnel, like I was impatient for the train to arrive. I glanced at the attendant. He still watched me—there wasn’t much else to look at this time of night. I smiled. He smiled back, his gold tooth catching the light. I put my hands behind my back and rocked impatiently on the balls of my feet.

A rush of warm air ruffled my hair, and I heard a distant rumble. The breeze got stronger as the train approached. A few seconds later, I could see its headlight. I walked down the platform, away from the entry, like I wanted to get on the train near the driver.

The attendant stood and folded his chair. As soon as his back was to me, I vaulted the fence and scrambled behind one of the old trolley cars. The last train rolled into the station, brakes screaming, and slowed to a halt. I heard the doors slide open and footsteps cross the platform. Warning bells bonged, and the doors slid closed. The train revved, then pulled away from the station. I waited, rubbing my right wrist. Even with the splint, I’d hurt it again climbing over the fence. A shapeshifter can heal a broken bone within a day or two, but not if I kept reinjuring it. I needed to be more careful.

Within two minutes the station was silent. I crept along between the antique trolley cars and the wall, until I stepped into the tunnel beyond the display. The tunnel curved to the left; a triangular head poked around a corner on the right. Kane was waiting for me. He stood in a narrow corridor that led back into the station, coming out behind the stairs. Roxana had said part of the tunnel served as an emergency exit; Kane had discovered the easy way in.