Broken (35 page)

A small laugh. “Exactly like that.”

“Have you ever been on TV?”

Jaime hesitated, but at a nod from Jeremy, she told the young woman who she was, and the woman knew her TV spiritualists well enough to be impressed and, maybe, for a few minutes, to forget what had happened to her.

“Okay,” she said finally, taking a deep breath, like a child steeling herself to do her best. I wondered how old she was…then realized I probably didn’t want to know.

Jeremy started the interview, keeping it slow, easing her into it by asking what she’d done earlier that evening, who she’d spoken to, the sort of police-type questions that wouldn’t help us, but were more humane than jumping straight to “so, how’d you die?”

We did get to that question, although, of course, Jeremy didn’t word it quite that way.

“It was a guy,” Kara said, then gave a squeaky giggle. “Guess I don’t need to say that, huh?”

“He approached you on the street?” Jeremy asked.

Jaime relayed the question.

“Yeah, only I was kinda off near the alley. I had to, uh, go, you know, and the bit—old bat in the store on the corner won’t let us use her bathroom unless we buy something. I was coming out of the alley, and this guy stopped me, wanted a blow.”

“Did you get a look at him?” Jeremy said.

“Uh, kinda…but not really. It’s dark right there. I know he was a guy. Dark hair. Kinda skinny. Looked okay. That’s all I really noticed—that he wasn’t, you know, gross.” She paused, then hurried on. “If he’d wanted me to get into a car or something, I’d have made him get out into the light. I’m pretty careful, but it was only a blow, and he didn’t want to go anywhere, just the alley, so I figured it was safe…”

Her voice trailed off. Jeremy stopped the questioning for a few minutes, giving Jaime time to talk to Kara, make sure she was ready to continue. When she was, Jeremy skipped the “what happened next” part, which I’m sure would have fulfilled anyone’s definition of “traumatic,” and instead asked whether the man had said anything or done anything that might help us find him.

“Uh-uh. It happened pretty fast, I guess. He took me in there and I thought everything was okay. I heard someone else, down the alley, in the dark. A woman. I thought it was another girl, with a guy, but then she seemed to be talking to my guy. I was gonna tell him it’d cost him extra for that—doing it in front of his girlfriend or whatever. Then I smelled something. Something awful.”

Through Jaime, I asked her to describe the smell, if she could.

“It was like when this cat died at a place I was staying at and everyone thought it ran away and we were gone for a week and came back and—” She made a gagging noise. “It was real rude. Never smelled anything like that before…until tonight. Then I saw a shape move at the end of the alley and then—” She shook her head. “That’s it. He must have…done it then.”

Jaime let her go after that, with an herbal mixture she hoped would send her to the other side. We could have pressed for more, but we already had our answer. Rose had been there, and probably the bowler-hatted man was in the shadows with her. According to Jeremy and Clay, Patrick Shanahan could never be mistaken for “kinda thin,” meaning someone else had been with the zombies. Their true master, the one they’d been killed to serve.

“He’s out,” I said.

Jeremy paused, as if struggling to find another explanation. Then he gave a slow nod.

“I hope you don’t mean—” Clay looked at us. “Ah, shit.”

We decided to try tracking the zombies from the crime scene, hoping “Jack” was still with them. Even if he wasn’t, this might be our chance to try the “kill a zombie and follow him to the controller” ploy.

Great plan…except that this block had been so heavily trodden in the past few hours that even when I looped around to the other end of the alley, Rose’s stink was almost covered.

“We have to Change,” Clay murmured as he, Nick and I walked the crime scene perimeter.

“I know.”

“Jeremy isn’t going to like that,” Nick said.

“I know.” I glanced back to where the others were waiting with Hull. “Let me talk to him.”

Jeremy agreed with surprisingly little resistance. I think, by that point, he was as frustrated as the rest of us. If we were spotted, what was the worst that could happen? Giant wolves in Toronto? Hell, why not—they already had zombies, killer rats, dimensional portals and, now, Jack the Ripper.

“Circle wide around—” he began.

“Where are they going?” a voice to our left asked. Hull.

“They’re going to scout the perimeter,” Jeremy said. “In case the killer stayed nearby.”

“Is that—” Hull hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “Is it safe? It would appear, as you’ve said, that she”—a nod my way—“is this madman’s target…”

“No, we believed she was the zombie’s primary target—and only because she must have seemed the easiest of us to capture. Yet they seem to have abandoned that plan.”

“Probably because they have a more important goal now,” I said. “Fulfilling Jack’s contract.”

“Fulfilling…?” Hull’s brows knitted.

Jeremy surreptitiously motioned for Clay, Nick and me to slip off, while he dealt with Hull.

As we turned to go, I caught a glimpse of a familiar silver braid through the crowd.

“Jer?” I whispered, directing his gaze to Anita.

“What the hell’s she doing here?” Clay said.

“Who?” Hull raised onto his tiptoes, trying to see over the crowd. “Is it the zombie woman? Dear God, I hope they aren’t—”

“They aren’t.” I turned to Jeremy. “Her bookstore’s barely a block away, and her apartment’s over it. She probably heard the commotion and came down. One look at this and she’ll know—”

Anita turned, surveying the crowd. Her eyes met mine.

“Shit,” Clay muttered. “Still time to get away?”

“Better to cut her off at the pass,” Jeremy murmured. “Matthew, come with me, please. Elena—”

“Got it.”

While Jeremy hustled Hull out of the way, Clay and I headed toward Anita. A mob of newcomers, jostling to get close to the crime, cut between us and her. When one knocked hard against my stomach, Clay shouldered him back with a glare.

“Hey—” the young man said, letting out a stream of alcohol fumes strong enough to knock any Breathalyzer well over the limit.

“Hey, yourself,” Clay growled. “Watch who you’re mowing down.”

He gestured at my stomach. The young man scowled down at it.

“Yeah? Well, if you’re really worried about your baby, pal, you’d get your wife out of the city. Haven’t you heard the bulletins? Pregnant women are advised to leave the city—”

“Thanks,” I said, taking Clay’s arm and propelling him forward. “We didn’t hear that.”

By the time we made it through the crowd, Anita was nowhere to be seen. Nick and Antonio met us on the other side, having seen the confrontation and hurried to help. We gave them a description of Anita and set out, weaving through the crowd. I was circling a police cruiser when I almost bumped into another familiar body—Jeremy.

“We lost her,” I said.

“And I lost Hull,” he murmured.

“Oh, shit.”

Panicked searching ensued, and Jeremy was about to take Antonio and head over to Anita’s bookstore when Hull came flying along the sidewalk, face white.

“Oh, thank God,” he said, panting as he drew up beside us. “They’re here. The zombies. I smelled that awful stench, and I turned to tell Mr. Danvers, but he was gone and—”

“Where are they?” Jeremy asked.

Hull gestured wildly, taking in half the surrounding block.

“Did you see them?”

“No, I only smelled them. But they were close. I think they were coming for me. I ran into a crowd and that seemed to scare them off.”

Hull led us to where he’d smelled the zombies. They had indeed been there—both of them—along a side road. Jeremy and Jaime took Hull aside then, luring him with the promise of a drink to calm his nerves. Before they left, though, Jeremy changed his mind about our search—we’d do it as humans.

We found the zombie trails easily enough. As for Jack, it was impossible to lift a decent suspect trail. I had no idea what he smelled like, and at least a dozen other trails in that alley were recent enough to be his. So I did my best to commit all of them to memory. When I found more of the zombies’ trails, I could match up my memories with any human scents following theirs.

Yet after three streets, it became obvious this wasn’t as easy as it sounded. No single human trail intertwined with that of the zombies for more than half a block. We could only guess that the stench was too much for Jack, and he’d taken another route. That left us following the zombies, and we did that for an hour, but kept losing the trail as it crossed roads.

When we checked in with Jeremy, he decided that was enough. What he’d hoped for was a scent signature for the killer, and if we weren’t going to get that, we’d be better off getting some sleep.

Trust

JEREMY DECIDED TO TAKE HULL BACK TO THE HOTEL WITH
us. Hull obviously wanted that—the poor guy was convinced Jack the Ripper and killer zombies were on his tail. We were more worried about Anita Barrington coming after him and trying to “trade” him to Shanahan, but either way, it seemed wise to keep him close.

While some of us wanted to discuss the night’s events before turning in, Jeremy refused, feigning exhaustion, with Antonio backing him up, as if they hoped a few yawns would convince us
we
were tired too. I certainly wasn’t. That’s the problem with sleeping until early afternoon: twelve hours later, I was still raring to go.

So after we tossed our suitcases into the corner of the room, Clay and I left as Nick made a phone call. We headed into the hall, looking for a diversion…and hoping Jeremy and Antonio might reappear after they were certain Hull had retired.

No such luck. Even after pacing past their door three times, talking loudly, they didn’t come out. As we wandered along the hotel corridor, Clay spotted a communal balcony. The sign on the door warned that it was locked after eleven. But when Clay tried the handle, it opened…though I’m sure his extrahard twist helped.

The balcony was about the size of a hotel room, with a brick railing overlooking the streetscape. There were two lounge chairs—one nearly hidden by the wall, the other on the far side, as if the people who’d used them last had been strangers, and had intended to stay that way.

Clay stretched out in the shadow-shrouded lounger. I walked to the railing and looked down at the city.

“Do you think we did it?” I asked.

“Did what?”

“Let him out. With Jaime’s séance.”

“And none of us noticed him strolling out of that portal?”

I nodded. “You’re right.”

“Timing’s off too. Even if he jumped out the moment Jaime started doing her thing, there’s no way he got over to that corner, met up with his zombies, picked out a girl and killed her, all before we finished. Your friend said the 911 call came in almost an hour before she got the news—while we were still in Cabbagetown.”

The door slid open behind me. I turned, expecting to see Nick. A slight figure hovered in the doorway. Hull. I nodded, but didn’t extend an invitation. He still walked in—right past Clay without seeing him there in the dark—and took a spot beside me at the railing.

“Nice night,” Hull said, gazing out at the city.

I nodded.

“It’s all very…” He looked around. “Different. It’s hard to believe how much can change in a hundred years.” He gestured at the side of the hotel. “Hardly a common roadside inn.”

A stab of guilt raced through me. Any other time, I’d have been fascinated by Hull’s situation, but here I was unable to muster more than a twinge of empathy.

Granted, empathy and I are not close friends, but I can usually put myself in someone else’s shoes, imagine his situation and feel the appropriate response. Yet, with Hull, there was nothing. Not even curiosity. Maybe I had a lot on my mind, but I should make the effort.

“This must be…” I began, then shook my head. “I can’t imagine what it’s like. Did you have a family? Wife, kids?”

He shook his head. “My work took up much of my time, I’m afraid.”

I managed a few more questions, but his answers were simple, none opening the gate to anything approaching spirited conversation.

I glanced over at Clay, but it looked as if he’d fallen asleep. No rescue there. Hull just watched me, as if waiting for the next question. I struggled to think of one, but under that blankly polite gaze, any spark of interest I could manage sputtered out. It was like being cornered by the most boring person at the party.

“This must be very difficult for you as well,” Hull said after a moment. “In your…condition.” He sidestepped closer. “I don’t mean to be rude but, all things considered, I’m surprised your husband is putting you through this, dragging you here and there, trying to catch these monsters—”

“Her husband doesn’t drag her anywhere,” Clay drawled, appearing at my shoulder. “She goes where she pleases; he just tries to keep up.”