“Five.”
“I sent twelve. So the Old Ones wasted their time running around the globe searching for me while I was right here. I could spy on them, and they never suspected. That’s how I learned about the wizard and the sleeping one.”
“If you didn’t leave Boston, how did you manage to send cards from Brazil and Australia and all those other places?”
“Using a network of trusted vampires.” The furrows in her forehead deepened. “Except one of them betrayed me. I don’t know who, but when I find out, there’s a stake with that vampire’s name on it.” The feral glow in her eyes showed she wasn’t talking in metaphors. “It was nearly dawn. I’d been out to feed, and I was returning to my safe house. On the street outside, I stopped, getting out my key. As I did, I heard those soft, scratchy, psychic whispers. Two Old Ones were inside my no-longer-safe house, waiting for me. The sun was almost up, and I didn’t have another place to stay. So I found a Goon Squad patrol and turned myself in. It was the only thing I could think of.”
Juliet yawned again and sank lower on the pillows. “I’m tired. I think it’s time for me to resume the shroud.”
It was getting late for a vampire, and she did need to rest. “Can I take a look at your leg?” I asked.
She sighed and moved the covers aside as though she were doing me a great favor. Axel’s stitches marched along the wound in a neat, even line. But the edges of the cut curled up slightly, away from each other, as though determined not to rejoin. Juliet’s leg was hot and still smelled putrid.
I pulled the covers back over her leg. “When I was in Wales, my aunt gave me a salve that speeds healing. I brought some back with me. I don’t know if it works on vampires, but it’s worth a try. It’s good stuff. I’ll bring some next time.”
“If you think it might help.” Juliet lifted a hand, granting permission, then crossed her arms on her chest. “And now, ‘to sleep, perchance to dream.’ Although I’m no more eager for dreams than Hamlet was.”
Before I could ask what she meant, her eyes closed. And that was it. She was dead to the world until sunset.
UPSTAIRS, AXEL SAT WAITING IN A BOOTH, RAPPING OUT A complicated rhythm on the tabletop. He stopped when he saw me.
“I don’t know why she’s not healing faster,” I said. “I wonder if the blade of the sword that injured her was poisoned. I’m going to get it checked.”
Axel nodded his approval.
“Can I use your phone?”
I don’t carry a cell phone. When I change form, the energy blast of the shift is tough on electronic gadgets. After I obliterated three cell phones in a single month, I gave up. Axel nodded again and resumed tapping.
I went behind the bar and dialed the work number of Daniel Costello, a human detective who worked for Boston PD’s homicide division. Daniel wasn’t just a cop; he was a friend. Once I’d thought maybe we’d be more than friends. His curly blond hair and blue eyes, his easygoing manner and warm smile, had sent a flush of pleasure through me whenever we were together. But my world, filled with demons and monsters, had proved too weird for him—not to mention too threatening to his job under a paranormal-hating police commissioner. Now I was back with Kane, and Daniel was dating Lynne Hong, a television reporter. And this wasn’t a social call. As I listened to the phone ring, I wondered why I still knew his number by heart.
Daniel wasn’t in yet, but I left a message for him to call me, asking to set up a meeting for later this morning if possible. I was hoping he could have one of his forensics guys check the Old One’s sword for poison. I couldn’t get the antidote if I didn’t know what the poison was. And I wanted to tell him my theory about the Morfran, how the South End Reaper could be possessed by that hunger-driven spirit. I wasn’t sure what he could do with that information, but it seemed like something he should know.
After I hung up, I sat with Axel. “I know you must want to get to bed, but can you wait up a little longer? I want to go home and get a healing salve my aunt gave me, so I can use some on Juliet.”
Axel quit tapping on the table and opened his hand. It held a key.
“That’s to the front door?”
“Back.” Even better. There’d be less of a chance someone might see me in the alley. Waltzing into Creature Comforts in the middle of the day would be sure to cause comment if anyone noticed.
Axel handed me the key, and I felt like I was getting the key to the city from the mayor himself. No, this was better. This key actually opened something important.
We went back into the storeroom, and Axel showed me how to open the secret guest room door. It was tricky; you had to twist the false keg’s cap just the right distance and with just the right amount of pressure, or nothing happened. When I’d managed to open the door three times in a row, Axel grunted. I think it signaled approval. At any rate, he went down the hall and disappeared through the NO ENTRY door into his place.
I let myself out the back door. Juliet wasn’t getting any better, but for the moment, she was safe.
9
SOMEONE HAD LEFT A PILE OF LAUNDRY ON THE SIDEWALK in front of my building. Or that’s what it looked like until the pile stood up, put gloved hands on hips, and addressed me in an annoyed voice.
“Where have you been?”
“Oh, is that you, Tina?” Tina was the zombie who’d been my demon-fighting apprentice—until she ditched the whole idea for a chance at becoming a pop singer. “For a second I almost thought you were my mom.”
“Ha. Ha.” The laundry followed me inside. I nodded to Clyde, the zombie doorman, and headed for the elevators. Now that she was out of reach of the morning sunlight that could permanently damage a zombie’s skin, Tina began discarding layers, dropping them on the floor as she went. She pulled off a wide-brimmed hat, taking a moment to fluff up her hair; unwound a long, multicolored scarf; and yanked off bright pink gloves. They formed a trail behind her like she was in a zombie version of Hansel and Gretel, making sure she could find her way home.
“Young lady!” called Clyde. “Pick up those clothes. The lobby is not a cloakroom!” Clyde’s awfully prim and proper for a zombie.
“It’s only for a minute. I have to get home—it’s already past curfew there.” Tina lived in a group home for underage zombies. She lowered her huge, round, pink-tinted sunglasses to make sure I could see her scowl. “I need to talk to Vicky for a minute.”
When she didn’t move to pick up her clothes, Clyde came out from behind his desk. He gathered the hat, the scarf, the gloves, and a jacket Tina had dropped in the meantime. He thrust the bundle into her arms, punctuating the action with a loud hmmph! Then he returned to his station.
Tina scurried toward me—although scurry probably isn’t the right word to describe the stiff-legged way zombies walk—clutching her bundle of clothes. A glove dropped to the floor. She didn’t notice. I retrieved it and put it on top of the pile.
“Okay, Tina, what do you want?” I might as well hear whatever she had to say here and now. If she followed me up to my apartment, I’d never get her to leave, curfew or no curfew. And I had things to do.
“You’re never around anymore. How am I supposed to talk to you? You don’t even have a cell phone.”
“You know why I can’t carry a cell phone.”
“Well, then you should give me the phone number of what’s-his-name, that werewolf dude. That’s where you are all the time, with him. Right?”
“I see Kane sometimes, yes. And no, you can’t have his phone number.”