He snorted. “Probably got another story for us. Tell her-”
I motioned him to silence as I answered.
Yes, Anita had more information for us. When I tried to get her to relate over the phone, though, she insisted it wasn’t safe.
“I’ll call back from a landline,” I said. “Just give me five min-”
“No, dear. You don’t understand. This is-I really must see you.”
Clay shook his head emphatically.
“Actually, I’m sticking close to the hotel today. Doctor’s orders-”
“Then I’ll come there. Erin ’s gone to my sister’s. Getting her out of the city during all this seemed wise. I’ll close the shop early and head over. Oh, and I can take a look at that letter while I’m there. You still have that, don’t you?”
Clay frowned and shifted closer to hear better.
I told her I had the letter, and she was welcome to examine it.
“Excellent. Now where are you staying?”
I glanced at Clay. “The same hotel we gave you the phone number for.”
“Oh? You’re still there? Yes, of course you are-”
“No, I’m sorry. Completely forgot. We moved last night. We’re at the Marriott over by the Eaton Centre. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“The letter’s right there on the table,” I said as we brought Anita into our hotel room. “There are gloves beside it.”
She headed straight for it. I collapsed onto the bed.
“Tired, darling?” Clay asked.
“Too hot,” I said, then looked at the nightstand. “Where’s the bottled water?”
“Finished it. I’ll run down and grab some more.”
“No, get juice. Do they have cranberry?” I pushed up from the bed. “Here, I’ll go with you. Anita-”
“I’m fine, dear,” she said, head still down as she examined the letter.
Two minutes later, Anita Barrington opened our hotel room door, slipped out and nearly barreled into Clay, planted in the hallway. She spun and saw me blocking the other side.
“Oh, you’re back,” she said. “That was quick. I was just-”
“Leaving…” I waved at the tube in her hand. “With our letter.”
A small laugh. “Oh, dear, this doesn’t look good, does it? But I wasn’t leaving. I was coming down to see you, and it didn’t seem safe to leave this in the room.”
As she spoke, Clay opened the room door. I waved Anita in. She hesitated, looking across our faces, then went inside.
“Now,” she said as the door closed. “About that story I brought-”
“Don’t bother unless it’s the real one,” Clay said.
I grasped the end of the letter tube. She clung to it for a second before letting go.
“She’s right, though,” I said to Clay. “We need to be more careful about this. Someone could break in and ransack our room looking for it.”
He nodded. “Someone who knew where we were staying.”
“Because that person specifically asked for our hotel phone number. Someone who must have figured out what we are, so she knew she needed a potion to cover her scent when she broke in.”
“Someone who can cast blur spells, knockback spells, probably cover spells too…which is why we didn’t see her in the bathroom.”
Anita looked from Clay to me. “I don’t think I follow. Did someone break in-”
“Earlier, you asked me where we were staying. You knew we had a reason to move last night.”
She laughed. “No, dear, I have a very poor memory. I completely forgot that you told me which hotel-”
She lunged for the letter, slamming Clay with a knockback spell. I dove to cut her off, but her fingers wrapped around the tube as she cast another spell. Her form blurred and, for a second, she seemed to disappear.
“Elena!”
Clay sprang to his feet. A blur appeared at my shoulder. I spun out of the way as fingers grazed my side. The blur faltered, thrown off balance. She hit the nightstand, sending the lamp crashing to the floor. I lashed out, but missed. The blurred form raced for the door. Clay ran at her and threw himself down in her path. Anita tripped over him, reappearing as she struck the floor. I raced past her and grabbed the dropped letter.
“Elena!”
I wheeled as Anita’s hands flew up in a knockback spell. Our eyes met and she faltered, giving Clay time to roll up from the carpet. He charged, grabbed her by the back of her blouse and threw her over his shoulder. She hit the floor lamp, taking it down with her. Clay stalked over. She tried to scramble backward, out of his range, but he kept coming. Finally he was above her. Her lips parted in a spell, but she was shaking too badly to get the words out.
“Clay,” I murmured.
He hesitated, then backed off. I stepped into his place.
“Playing games doesn’t go over well with us,” I said. “We take them seriously.”
I reached down and helped her up.
“Sit there,” I said, gesturing at the chair. “Then tell us the real story behind the letter-the one that has something to do with immortality.”
She still tried to protest and sidetrack us, but finally told us the letter’s history, the one she’d known before she’d approached Shanahan to see it.
The story went that a sorcerer had created the portal. He’d been finishing work on an experiment, one that promised a form of immortality. A common enough type of experimentation, but something about this one made other supernaturals think he may have actually hit on a way to do it. Some wanted to steal his research. Some wanted to stop it. So he created the portal to hide, and put the trigger in the paper used to make the From Hell letter.
When Anita was done, I told her Hull ’s version of the tale.
She frowned. “That seems like a blending of the two stories-the half-demon one and the immortality experiment one. Perhaps that campfire tale bears more truth than one would imagine.”
I said nothing. After a moment, she continued.
“The demon’s boon may be immortality. Or the secret to it. The sorcerer only created the portal-it was the half-demon Jack the Ripper who hid inside.”
“And will be unleashed to wreak unholy terror on an unsuspecting world,” Clay drawled. “He’s doing a half-assed job of it so far.”
“Maybe he’s just warming up.”
Two hours later, Jeremy walked into our room, looked around and sighed.
“So much for resting,” he said as he righted the broken floor lamp.
“It wasn’t us,” I said. “Anita Barrington stopped by and all hell broke loose.”
Another sigh.
“You think I’m kidding? Seems Shanahan wasn’t the spellcaster who broke into our room last night.”
We told him what had happened.
“And after all that-plus nearly giving me a concussion last night-she had the gall to ask again if she can speak with Matthew Hull.”
“Probably hoping he knows more than he’s saying, which, after speaking to him today, I doubt. But as for the letter, I can’t imagine what she hopes to learn from that.”
“Our theory? She’s hoping to use it as leverage with Shanahan. If the zombies seem to want it back, what better offering to the man she believes may hold the secret to immortality.”
“Did you confront her on that?”
I shook my head. “It seemed better not to. Not yet.”
“Good. She may still prove useful.”
Our lunch having been interrupted, we ate a delayed one with Jaime, Nick and Antonio in the hotel restaurant. The restaurant was bright and open, with huge windows and market umbrellas-the feel of eating on a patio without the bugs, heat and smog.
According to Jeremy, Hull had scored about 80 percent when he’d quizzed him on the geography and minor current events of 1888 London-the kind of things it would be hard for a nonresident to answer, but equally hard for a resident to get perfect.
Jeremy had even mentioned that we had a source who might attempt to contact Jack the Ripper through the portal tonight, to see how Hull reacted, but he’d been all for it, and even offered to help, making no attempt to retract or change his story.