Something happened then, or rather several somethings, in such rapid succession it's not clear just what happened when. The darkness lifted, and consciousness returned, streaming in pure and true like first morning light. The demon released his grip, and I fell limp to the floor at his feet. A horrible, piercing shriek filled the air, rattling windows in their casements and setting off car alarms for a dozen blocks around. And, as I watched him stagger backward, the demon grew pale, indistinct — his insubstantial hands clawing helplessly at his torn and shattered face, the sharp edges of the broken figurine slicing through his flesh like so much Jell-O.
I skittered backward on the floor away from him, pure animal instinct urging me to flee. The demon fell to his knees, and then toppled to the floor — now charred black beneath him as if from fire, though just feet away, I felt no warmth. The shriek died to a whimper, and then fell silent. A voice — no longer connected to the transparent waif of a body that lay before me, but instead comprised of the myriad creaks and roars and scratches and whispers of the buildings and traffic and scuffing shoes and whooshing fabric that surrounded me as I lay on the floor of the dead Wai-Sun's store — called to me, full of hatred and menace and fear:
You have no idea what you've just done. You've sealed your fate, and the girl's as well. You cannot kill us all, Collector, for we are Legion — and you cannot keep her from us forever. My brethren shall dine on the tender flesh of her soul.
Then the body before me burst — thousands of horrid, nameless, mewling things pouring forth from it and scattering to all corners of the store, disappearing into the murk. After a moment, their unnatural squeaking had ceased, but still my skin crawled from the sight of them, and my teeth were set on edge. I pushed aside furniture, sure they were still there — watching, waiting — but whatever they were, they were gone now.
I didn't have a fucking clue what had just gone down, but of one thing I was sure: whatever just happened, I was suddenly alone.
14
The morning sun ducked behind a passing cloud, and I wrapped my arms tight around my chest to defend against the sudden chill. The signal changed, and I stepped out into the street, the ceramic shards in my pocket jangling as I hit the crosswalk on Morton, headed northwest toward Seventh Avenue on Bleecker Street. Since I left Wai-Sun's, I'd been wandering for hours, taking refuge in the quiet chaos of the Village. A far cry from the rigid grid of streets and avenues that traversed the rest of Manhattan, the tangled streets of Greenwich Village seemed as good a place as any to get lost — which was fine by me, since beaten and bloodied as I was, the last thing I needed was to be found.
I still wasn't sure just what in the hell happened back there, but one thing was certain — I was lucky I'd gotten out of Wai-Sun's alive. After I'd dispatched the false Wai-Sun, I'd collected up the shattered remains of the ceramic cat and stuffed them in my pocket. I'm not sure what kind of mojo that cat had, or whether it would work again, but I figured it couldn't hurt. Of all the things the demon had told me, at least one of them was true: Mystical objects need not be as elaborate as one might think.
After sweeping up the remains of the cat, I'd drawn the blinds, flipped the sign to Closed, and gotten the hell out of there, locking the door behind me. It was only a matter of time before Wai-Sun was found, but I wanted to be well away from there when he was. Besides, the longer it took for word to spread I'd killed a member of the Fallen, the better. The last thing I needed now was a pack of demons with a vendetta on my tail.
Once I'd left Wai-Sun's, I set out walking toward the neighborhood the top had circled in its last lazy arcs before skittering off the table and across the room. Of course, the top had only narrowed it down to an area of maybe fifty blocks, and it wasn't like I could just go around knocking on doors. Policeman-suit or not, that was liable to arouse exactly the sort of suspicions I could really do without. Still, the top was all I had, and one way or another, I simply had to track Kate down.
Fun as all that sounded, though, it was gonna have to wait. Right now, I had to deal with whatever it was that was following me.
I'd first spotted him last night on the way to my meeting with Merihem — a dirt-streaked kid in a jacket a few sizes too big, sitting at a busy corner and begging for change. I wouldn't have given him another thought, except I spotted his reflection in the window of a Korean take-out joint earlier this morning, and then again a couple minutes ago, when he got chased off from a news stand a half a block ahead of me for loitering. The kid didn't look to be more than eleven, and he was thin as a rail, but I didn't let that fool me — plenty of demons like to take a spin in the little ones, and tiny frames or not, demonic strength is all the same.
I lagged back a while to make sure he caught sight of me, and then ducked into a narrow service alley beside a dingy neighborhood pub. The stained brick walls were a scant three feet apart, blotting out the morning light, and the alley smelled of rotting garbage and piss. I held my breath and soldiered on.
The alley intersected with a haphazard courtyard, just a couple of picnic tables and a pair of withered birch trees overlooked by three buildings' worth of windows; the rear of the bar and the dry cleaner's next door made up the windowless fourth wall, bisected by the alley I'd just cut through. Clotheslines criss-crossed the sky above.
Yeah, I thought — this'll do fine.
Other than the alley, the only way out of the courtyard was through one of the three buildings. I checked the doors — two were locked, but the third was propped open with a dented Folgers can, filled with sand and littered with cigarette butts. I glanced back the way I came. There was no sign yet of my pursuer. Good — that meant I still had time. I dragged one of the picnic tables over to the far wall, and climbed atop it. After a minute or two of wild, flailing leaps, I managed to snag the fire escape ladder. It extended downward, rattling like a rusty chain, and then slammed into the tabletop with a satisfying thunk.
I hopped down from the table and retreated to the propped courtyard door. I set the can aside and stepped into the building, shutting the door behind me. I'd done my job well — through the narrow pane of safety glass set high into the door, I had an eyeline to the ladder and the alley as well. Now, all I had to do was wait.
Turns out, I didn't have to wait long. Maybe a half a cigarette after I'd assumed my post, I saw the kid's head duck around the corner of the alley. He was a cautious one, I'd give him that — he stuck to the shadows, his tattered, down jacket pressed tight to the dingy alley wall. He paused there a moment until he was sure there was no sign of me, and then he trotted over to the picnic table, circling it a time or two as though unsure what to make of it.
"Come on, you son of a bitch," I muttered, "take the bait."
After what seemed like forever, he did. I watched him scamper up the ladder, haul himself up onto the first landing, and continue on up the stairs toward the roof and out of sight.
It occurred to me then that I could run — just head out the way I came, and be rid of this tail, maybe for good. But I needed answers, and running wasn't going to get them for me. So instead, I forced myself to sit and finish my cigarette, allowing him ample time to reach the roof, and then, stubbing out the butt on the heel of my SWAT-issue boot, I slipped out the door and followed.
The pebbled roof bit into my tender stocking feet as I slinked across it, ceramic shard in hand. My boots were tied together at the laces and draped across one shoulder; I'd taken them off so I could ascend the fire escape unheard. But six stories of rusting waffled iron had bit into my soles and left me raw and hobbling, and now the kid was nowhere to be seen.