Grey Dawn (31 page)

Dulcie envisioned her cat's green eyes – the same eyes as the stranger in the carriage. ‘
You have far to go,'
the stranger had said.
‘You bear a burden of Debt to others besides yourself, to those who will follow after …'
No, she couldn't go home. Not yet. She had to go speak to Rogovoy. She'd put it off long enough.

‘Come on, kitty.' Wrapping her arms around the box and bowing into the wind, Dulcie headed back up Mass. Ave. ‘You're going to be the most traveled cat in Cambridge, Tigger.' She caught herself. That was Thorpe's name for the orange tabby, not hers – or whatever his eventual person might chose. Still, she thought back to the way the kitten had gone for Thorpe's finger. Tigger seemed quite apt.

The kitten was getting restless, however, and as Dulcie walked she could feel him shifting around inside his box.

‘I know, little fellow. You've been in there a while. I'll make this quick, I promise.' A faint mew reached her, and she felt like a pact had been reached. In, out, and then a litter box, food, and water. ‘I'd like to get home, too.'

With that thought in mind, Dulcie was almost relieved not to see Detective Rogovoy as she stepped into the headquarters' lobby. Still, she walked up to the long front counter and asked for the detective, still holding the kitten's box to her chest.

‘Detective?' The younger man at the desk picked up the phone. ‘Young lady here to see you.' He nodded at Dulcie, who hadn't even given her name. ‘Go on back,' he said. ‘Third door on your right.'

‘Oh, it's you.' The big detective sounded more gruff than usual. Sitting behind a table in one of the small rooms off the main corridor, he'd barely looked up when Dulcie walked in.

‘You were expecting someone else?' Dulcie took the seat opposite the big man, placing the kitten's box on the floor.

He shrugged, his mountainous shoulders rising and falling, and responded with a question of his own. ‘So, what brings you here, Ms Schwartz? Not that it isn't always a pleasure.'

Warmed a bit by that last declaration, Dulcie found herself relaxing. ‘There's something I didn't tell you, the last time I saw you, Detective. I couldn't, because it wasn't my secret. But, well, I've come to realize that perhaps it isn't her secret, either, but rather belongs in the pool of general knowledge that … that you'll be using for the public good.'

She'd kind of worked herself into a corner with that. About halfway through, Rogovoy had sat up, so she knew she had his attention. But from the way he was rubbing his hand over his face, she suspected he was also hiding a smile. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, she decided, and launched into her depiction of the scene outside the Newman, three nights before.

‘At the time, I thought it might have been that visiting professor, Professor Lukos.' Dulcie remembered the scene she had caused and would have left it at that, but the large detective prodded her.

‘Oh, really?' He was leaning over the table, his low voice more like a growl. ‘And why was that?'

‘Well, he was late to the party, so he'd been out on the street. Plus, he'd been seen talking with Emily's room-mate, Mina, the night before … the night she was attacked.' The details were coming back to her. Lukos had said Emily was unfriendly – no, it was Mina he'd called unfriendly. Or, no, ‘unaffectionate.'

She shook off that memory. It had no relevance, and she needed to get her story out. ‘He was hiding his hand,' she told Rogovoy. ‘I think it was cut, or something.'

‘And was the young woman – the room-mate? – was she cut at all?'

‘Well, no. She'd been grabbed and thrown down.' Dulcie couldn't believe he was being so obtuse. ‘But she fought back. She clawed at him.'

‘Like a cat, huh?' He was doing his best to stifle a grin, she could tell.

‘You don't believe me, do you?' Dulcie was glad she hadn't gone on about the wolf.

He shrugged again, those oversized shoulders eloquent in their silence.

‘Martin Thorpe was missing that night, too.' Dulcie felt a twinge of guilt, a twinge accentuated by a movement in the box at her feet. ‘So you might want to talk to him. I don't know where Josh Blakely was, either.'

‘Uh huh.' Rogovoy was no longer looking at her and had instead gone back to reading the paper before him.

‘Aren't you going to talk to anybody?' This was exasperating.

‘Oh, I am, Ms Schwartz. Don't you worry about that.' He looked up and put down his pen. ‘In fact, I'm going to be talking to Ms Trainor this evening. I expected her to be here by now.'

So she'd decided to come forward. But Rogovoy was still talking. ‘In fact, I'm wondering where she is.'

‘Why didn't you send a car for her?' Dulcie pictured Emily, limping up the cold, dark street. ‘It's quite a hike to get up here.'

‘You made it.' Rogovoy seemed to have a point, but Dulcie didn't get it. ‘Though, come to think of it, maybe you shouldn't walk back. Hang around for a few minutes, and I'll have someone run you home.'

‘Thanks a lot.' Dulcie got to her feet. She couldn't actually storm out, not while she was reaching for the kitten's box, but she drenched her voice with as much scorn as she could manage. ‘I'm quite capable of taking care of myself.'

As she left, she tossed her head in the air. Her curls were almost long enough to throw back, but the movement disturbed the kitten, who mewed once loudly. ‘Well said,' Dulcie muttered in response, and made her way through to the front of the police station.

‘He didn't believe me.' Dulcie was having trouble accepting that idea. ‘After all he knows I've been through.' She ran over what she'd told him – she didn't like to think of it as ‘her story.' Seeing Lukos at the party, arriving late and possibly injured. Finding Emily. Granted, Lukos left the next morning – so he wasn't around when Professor Showalter was attacked. Unless he was also a victim. Maybe there was something that Lukos wasn't telling anyone. Something too fantastic – like maybe he knew what had happened to Mina. Maybe he'd even intervened, defended Emily. And if he'd been hurt – bitten – then he was at risk …

Dulcie stopped in her tracks. Of course, Rogovoy wasn't listening to her any more. Dulcie had become the ultimate cliché: the girl who cried ‘wolf.'

B
esides, it was probably Josh. As much as she liked the ruddy-cheeked junior, Dulcie had to admit, a normal, everyday domestic dispute was a lot more likely than anything supernatural, especially of the lycanthropic variety. Unless Josh was the …

No, that really didn't make any sense. Josh seemed quite calm and happy, except when he was worried about Mina. Even when he talked about his girlfriend, it was with pride. That didn't mean he wasn't possessive of her, dangerously so. And wrong about her, too, if Emily was to be believed. After all, Mina and Emily had roomed together for years. Josh was the interloper in that relationship.

Poor Emily. Dulcie couldn't believe Rogovoy was being so heartless. Okay, maybe he didn't believe her, but to make Emily come all the way up to his office just to talk? She shook her head. It was not only cold, it was full dark now. Well, dark enough so that the waning moon overhead glowed with a blue light.

Inside his box, the kitten rustled. She could feel his weight shift and grow awkward as he paced from side to side.

‘Hang in here, Tigger,' she said, reaching around to brace it. He was such a little thing, but his movement made the box harder to hold. ‘We'll be home soon.'

She was talking to herself as much as to the kitten now. The wind that had dispersed the clouds earlier had picked up, blasting cold air that cut right through her sweater. Her hands, clasped in the front of the box, were growing numb. Maybe she should have waited for that ride. But, no, if Rogovoy couldn't extend that courtesy to a disabled undergrad, she wasn't going to accept it, either.

Still, it was so cold. And, she realized, so dark. Now that she was a block away from the police station, she was more aware of the hour. The freezing wind had driven other pedestrians inside, and the illumination of the street lights was broken by the crazy shadows of bare branches, tossing in the wind.

She thought of Chris. She could call him. He'd come and meet her, she was sure, even if he were working. Only she didn't want to put the kitten down. Didn't want to stop walking. Not because of the dark, she told herself. Not because of the night, or the bright moonlight that cast such wild shadows. Simply because of the cold. No wonder the kitten was agitated.

‘We'll be home soon, Tigger.' She leaned forward to speak into the box, her breath reflecting off warm in the frigid air. Poor kitten. She should never have taken him away from Thorpe, not if she was going to keep him in a box for so long – in a box in the cold.

A cab drove by, and Dulcie jumped, shifting the box so she could raise her hand. Too late. Already, she could see its tail lights fading, and although she waved, it didn't stop, undoubtedly speeding down the empty avenue toward some suburban caller.

‘Mrow!' The jostling had been too much for one small, but very vocal kitty.

‘I'm sorry, Tigger. Really.' Pulling the box back in front of her, Dulcie wrapped her arms around it. She was getting tired, the box heavier. She'd never make it home at this rate.

‘I'll get us a cab,' she said to the box. ‘Another cab.' Damn the expense. She wasn't dressed for this weather, and, besides, she had Tigger to worry about.

Only three more blocks to the Square. And maybe, if they were lucky, another cab would come by. She'd be prepared this time, she promised herself, as she peered down the empty road.

Headlights – there! She saw one. But even as it came closer, she saw its directional blink. Instead of continuing straight up toward her, it was veering to the left, around the edge of the Common.

Of course, the Commodore had a cab stand. And a lobby where she could warm up if there were no taxis waiting. Dulcie looked down the empty avenue. No other cars, cabs or otherwise. She looked across the street at the Common. She'd walked most of its length already, safely on the other side of the road. Only the last corner – a spit of land, really – remained, separating her from the hotel with its warmth, its lights, and its taxis. She could clearly see the front entrance. The doorman was opening the door for someone – a woman – who had just bustled out of that cab. The cabbie, she could see, was still there, by the curb. Just waiting for another fare.

She checked the road one more time – nothing – and crossed. With no leaves on the trees, the path was clear. The street lights and that moon cast everything in a blue light, making even the trees look like statuary, their shadows etchings on the ground. Inside his box, the kitten began scratching, clawing at the corners. Dulcie clasped the top closed and saw how blue her hands looked –
the moonlight was bright, almost as bright as if it were full, but she felt it as cold.

‘Soon, kitty,' she said. ‘Almost there.'

‘Mrow!' The sound was amplified, loud in the dark. Ahead and to her right, a big beech stood silver and strangely foreboding. Dulcie moved to her left, to avoid it. Something about the shadows.

‘MROW!' The kitten yelled, impossibly loud. And then suddenly she was down.

‘What? No!' Dulcie found herself on her knees, her hands on the gravel. The kitten's box, overturned, lay open a few feet away. ‘Tigger!'

Thud! That time she felt it, a blow like a log falling. The moonlight seemed to dim, the pain in her hands, in her head, so very far away. The kitten …

Something warm dripped on her face. She was warm. Tired. She closed her eyes …

And woke with a start as the world exploded with a fearsome noise. A roar – like a freight train racing by. Like a tornado. Like a maddened tiger. And then what sounded very like a woman's scream.

‘My head.' She'd been hurt. She was hearing things. She started to sit up, reaching behind her. She'd been hit by … by something. The pavement before her swam with the motion, and she closed her eyes again. Her hand felt the back of her head; it was wet, and her touch hurt. She gasped and fought down a wave of nausea. Maybe she should just stay here for a moment, collect her thoughts.

The night no longer felt cold, and Dulcie so wanted to rest. She put her head back down on the cool gravel of the path and began to close her eyes. Only just then, something brushed against her. Something like fur, insistent and soft. A paw, a head butt. The faintest of purrs.

‘Mr Grey?' Dulcie sat up, slowly this time, and blinked until the world came back into focus. She thought of the sound she had heard, like a tiger enraged. ‘Is that –
was
that you?'

Her feline friend was nowhere in sight. Despite a throbbing that was becoming more pronounced as Dulcie's mind cleared, she pulled herself up to her knees and looked around. No Mr Grey, not even a squirrel. But seated a few feet away, beside the opened cardboard box, sat the little orange kitten, calmly washing the tiger stripes that were fading back into his fur.

‘T
igger? Come here, boy.' Dulcie was crawling, too weak to move much faster – and too afraid to startle the kitten. ‘Come on, here we go.'

With a sigh of relief, she got her hands around the kitten, whose fur seemed particularly warm to her frozen, scraped hands. ‘Good boy. Good.'

With the little marmalade held against her body, she reached for the box. It was intact, but when she dropped it – when she'd been attacked, she corrected herself – the top flaps must have sprung open somehow. Surely, this little guy couldn't have been the source of …

‘Mew?' As she placed him in the box, he looked up at her, his round blue eyes the picture of innocence.