Broken (47 page)

My gaze traveled to the knife. It lay in a heap of garbage about ten feet away. Hull ignored it, probably knowing that if he went for it, Nick would do the same, and in a hand-to-hand fight, Nick could kill Hull before he could cast.

“Where is she?” Hull said.

Nick glared.

Stones crunched at the end of the alley. Hull slowly turned toward the sound, his face creasing in a smile.

“Ah…” he murmured. “Perhaps I don’t need that tracking ritual after all.”

Another crunch of gravel, the noise still small enough to be a mistake, someone shifting impatiently. Jaime was drawing Hull’s attention away from me.

Perfect. Without Hull’s zombie servant, he’d have to go after “me” himself, turning his attention from Nick.

But he didn’t budge. Instead, his voice rang out, echoing along the alley.

“Mrs. Danvers. Earlier, you refused to consider my offer to spare your life and your mate’s in return for your babes. I trust you’ll be more flexible in the matter now.”

No, no, no! I’m right down that alley. Can’t you hear me? Knock Nick out, then come after me. I’m right there!

“I’m sure you can see, from your nook, that I have your friend. Do I even need to articulate my exchange? I think not. I will say, though, that it comes with a time limit. I am a patient man, but I have waited so long—so unbelievably long—and the end is right before me. A vampire to complete my experiment, and a black-market treasure to allow me to make the final preparations at my leisure, unhurried by want of funds. Seeing these things, so close…it would try any man’s patience, would it not? You have five minutes. At the end of that, I kill your friend and come after you.”

“Elena,” Nick said, his voice a low growl. “Get out of here.”

“Oh, come now,” Hull said. “Do you really think—”

“My choice, Elena,” Nick continued. “Do you remember that? I make my own choices.”

Hull’s fingers flew up, the spell cast too quick for me to even move. Another knockback spell, this one harder, sending Nick flying into the brick wall. A dull crack, and he slumped. I didn’t breathe until I saw the steady rise and fall of his chest.

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to attack.
Okay, Hull. Now Nick’s not a threat. And you know where I am, where you think I am. No reason not to just stroll down there and take me—

“Mrs. Danvers!” he called. “The clock is ticking. Your friend is sleeping away the last minutes of his life.”

I balled my fists. Hull didn’t care that he could get me easily. He wanted me to turn myself over. He wanted control.

There was only one thing to do. Give him that control. I had to do what we should have done back in the woods. Let Hull take me, get him away from my family and friends, bring this down to us—him and me and my unborn children—and pray that once he thought he’d won, I could somehow turn the tables. I went numb even thinking about it, but that’s what I had to do.

“I’m here,” I said, moving to the window.

His gaze swung along the alley, then up, following my voice. Seeing me, he smiled.

“Very good. That’s the first step. Now, come out—slowly. If there is anyone with you, please remind them I still have your friend, only a spellcast away.”

I knew Hull wouldn’t let me retreat to the fire escape. I crawled backward out the window, lowered myself as far as I could and dropped, bending my knees as I fell.

A deep breath, and I turned around.

“Excellent,” Hull said. “Now, I’m afraid our departure will be delayed while my zombie makes the journey from the portal. An inconvenience, but I’m not about to leave my vampire corpse just lying about where anyone can find it.”

As we waited, I struggled against the urge to plot, to plan, to use the delay and find a way to end this, right now. I couldn’t. I had to get Hull away from Nick and Jaime.

At the thought of Jaime, my gaze stole down the alley. Was she still there, watching helplessly? Or had she gone for help?

A flicker of hope at the thought, doused as I realized that was what I
didn’t
want. I’d already endangered—and killed—enough people trying to escape Hull. Time to bring it down to the two of us. No rescue. No backup. Just us.

After a couple of minutes, Nick mumbled something, and I jumped. Hull spun, hands rising to cast. Nick settled again, still unconscious, but for how long? Maybe I should distract Hull, end this here before Nick woke.

“You killed Anita Barrington, didn’t you?” I said. “She saw you at the crime scene. She knew you were a sorcerer. That’s what she wanted to tell me. But you got to her first.”

Hull laughed. “Ah, yes, the poor witch. Always innocent, aren’t they? Yes, she recognized what I was…and begged me to help her, promised to deliver you into my hands in return for immortality. Pathetically desperate. Cried about her poor granddaughter, who’d be all alone if she passed, but the truth is that she saw death in the mirror every morning, and would do anything to stop it from coming.” He smiled, showing his teeth. “So I helped.”

“You killed her. After you made her finger Shanahan—”

“Enough of this, Mrs. Danvers. I’m not fool enough to fall for distraction tactics. You can talk, if it makes you feel better, but it won’t help.”

Distant running footsteps sounded before I could answer. The bowler-hatted man? I sampled the air to be sure.

After his second death, he was ripening nicely. Not falling apart—if he could run—but decay was setting in. Kill him a third time, and he’d skid into living death, like Rose. Good.

The footfalls slowed at the end of the alley. Then they stopped. Hull frowned, and opened his mouth to call out. The zombie turned the corner. The skin around his mouth and nostril had blackened and that left arm seemed to swing a little too freely as he moved.

“There you are,” Hull said. “A little the worse for wear, but we’ll get that fixed up soon enough. Now, I want you to harvest a few items from the vampire. Then we’ll hide the corpse, so I can return later and take more. I hope you remember your anatomy lessons.” Hull chuckled. “Seems they’ll be useful for more than playing…” He cocked his head and looked at me. “What did they call him? Ah, yes, Jack the Ripper. Nasty fellow, I’m sure. But I owe him a debt of thanks. He’s been most helpful, whoever he was.”

That’s why I hadn’t found a third scent with the zombies after the Ripper-style killing. There hadn’t been one. As I’d guessed from Hull’s words in the forest, it had been the bowler-hatted zombie, following the recipe of a long-dead killer.

A hundred and twenty years ago, Hull had used Ripper panic to safeguard his portal letter. Now, he’d used it again, to try to panic us and convince us that I was the target, and needed to be taken off the streets and secreted away with him while the others tracked this new threat.

The zombie had stopped in front of Hull, head drooping and swiveling. Was something wrong with his neck? He looked confused, almost lost.

Hull sucked in his breath and glared down at Nick’s unconscious form. “Had to hit him in the head, didn’t you? If—”

The zombie lurched forward, like a stalled motor jumping to life. He walked over to the knife and scooped it up.

“Good,” Hull said. “That’s it. She’s right over there, behind you.”

The zombie turned. He looked at Zoe’s body, but his brow knitted, as if confused by what he was seeing.

“Yes, that’s her. Now—”

The zombie turned back to Hull, head bobbing, brow still furrowed.

Hull let out a hiss of frustration. Something moved at the far end of the alley. Jaime had come out and was standing with her back against the wall. I gestured for her to get back before Hull saw her, but her eyes were closed, squeezed shut. Her face was ashen, almost glowing in the moonlight, shiny with sweat. Eyes closed, concentrating so hard she was sweating…

My gaze swung back to the zombie, who was tottering there, confused. Confused by a conflict of commands. A conflict of control.

But that couldn’t be. According to the stories, a necromancer couldn’t control someone else’s zombies.

The zombie lunged at Hull, knife flying. Hull fell back, already casting. Casting a spell at the zombie. Protecting his own life. Mine forgotten. Nick’s forgotten.

I saw my chance…and waited. Attack now, and all he had to do was redirect the cast my way. The last words left his mouth and the zombie fell back, then I flew at Hull.

I hit him in the side. As we fell, I grabbed for his hands. I caught the right one, but my fingers only brushed the left. He cast a knockback spell, the best he could manage when he was low on power. It still hit me like a blow to the solar plexus. Any other time, I wouldn’t have let go, but my brain screamed “the babies!” and my hands shot to my stomach.

Before I could grab Hull again, he backed up, putting distance between us as his hands lifted, starting a fresh spell.

The bowler-hatted zombie struggled up, knife in his grip. Hull looked from him to me, hands hovering, spell uncast. Only enough power to repel one of us. Which to choose—the knife-wielding zombie or the pissed-off werewolf? Before either I or the zombie could take advantage of his hesitation, Hull made his choice…and bolted.

Cover

HULL GAVE THE ZOMBIE A HARD SHOVE AS HE RAN PAST
.
ALREADY
unsteady, the zombie fell. I raced after Hull.

“Elena!”

I stumbled as I wheeled back to Jaime. “Stay with Nick.”

“But I can—”

“Please.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Once I wake him up, we’ll be right behind you.”

I’d seen Hull turn right, onto a side street, but there was no sign of him. I jogged along the sidewalk, sniffing and listening. When I reached the first corner, I peered around a building to see Hull fifty feet away, casting a spell at a door. An unlock spell.

I rocked on the balls of my feet, holding back until he was inside. Then I stole down the sidewalk. At the still-closing door, I paused. All was silent within. I grabbed the handle before the latch caught, then eased the door open.

Inside the small, dark vestibule, there were stairs leading down to my left. So Hull had taken refuge in a windowless basement, probably with one exit. I smiled.

The stairs stopped at a landing, then doubled back. I peered over the railing into the gloom. A dim security light at the bottom illuminated a time-card rack and punch on the right wall, and an open doorway to the left.

Down the steps, stop and look. A cavernous room opened before me, so big that in the near dark, I couldn’t see the other three sides.

As my night vision kicked in, I could see enough to know where I was. The room—at least fifty feet square—was filled with cheap office tables, arranged like pews. On each desk was a row of telephones and headsets. A telemarketing pit.

I’d worked in telemarketing at fifteen, too young for something better and needing more pay and hours than a fast-food job would provide.

There were two exits, not counting the one I’d come in. One opened into a small room with a curtained glass wall. The supervisor’s office. The other led to a hall—lunchroom and supply closets if this setup was anything like my old workplace.

Which had Hull picked? Office or hall? Or was he still here, huddled behind a table, waiting to slam me with a knockback spell when I passed? I went still, sniffing and listening. His scent was here.
Been
here or
still
here, it was impossible to tell.

Something clattered in the back hall. I hurried forward. At the hall entrance, I paused and peered through. It was a short corridor, no more than fifteen feet, with two closed doors to my left and one open doorway to my right.

Hull’s scent hung in the air, giving me no directional clues. I considered bending to check for a trail, but these days I couldn’t fly up from a crouch. Better to stay standing and rely on my other senses.

The open doorway led to the lunchroom. I could tell by the stink—food that probably smelled just fine on its own, but when combined and left to mellow, was enough to revolt the hungriest stomach.

Edging against the door jamb, I glanced inside. It could have been a carbon copy of my old lunchroom—little bigger than a walk-in closet with a sauce-spattered microwave, a Goodwill rescue dinette set and an ancient refrigerator.

No hiding places even for a small man like Hull. Well, there was the fridge, but he’d need to clear out all the condiments and unwanted food.

The first closed door was locked. I checked the second. Also locked. Back to the first. I twisted the handle hard and fast, snapping the simple key-lock.

I turned my back to the wall, then threw open the door. The stink of cleaning chemicals hit me. I peered inside. Just a closet—so jammed with janitorial equipment even Hull couldn’t have squeezed inside.

As I closed the door, something rustled in the main room. Had Hull somehow retreated there while I’d been checking the other rooms? But how? He couldn’t get past without—

Witch magic.

I cursed under my breath. Unlock spells were simple witch magic, and most sorcerers never bothered to master more than that, but they
could
learn stronger witch magic, like cover spells. I could have walked right past Hull and not known it unless he’d moved or I’d bumped into him.