I started to reply but I paused as a new thought struck me. Could Galm be behind the bone flute's theft? There were all kinds of ways to build a collection, not all of them legitimate, and the Darklords were constantly plotting against each other one way or another. And Galm had no love for me. Perhaps it had amused him to use my body to steal something from a rival Darklord. Or maybe it had been Talaith. She'd had run ins with Edrigu before and she absolutely loathed me. Maybe she'd decided to kill two birds with one stone and…
But then I derailed that particular train of thought. According to Quillion all the Darklords, along with Father Dis, were still sleeping off the after effects of the Renewal Ceremony. Unless either Galm or Talaith had woken up early, they couldn't be behind the theft.
"You could try asking someone else about the bone flute," David said. "After all, Galm's not the only collector in the city."
"You got someone else in mind?" I asked.
"Maybe. I hear a lot of things in my line of work. For a couple years now I've been hearing rumors about a Bloodborn who owns a used bookstore in the Sprawl – not far from where you two live, if I remember correctly."
I nodded. "The store's called Nosferatomes. Devona and I've been there before. What have you heard about the owner?"
"Nothing concrete," David said. "Just hints, really. But supposedly the owner – his name's Orlock – collects more than just old books. A lot of people come to tell me their stories and some of them are well connected to the seamier side of Nekropolis – or at least they like to make out they are: mercenaries, thieves, self-styled adventurers of one sort or another…" He gave me a meaningful look at this point. "And some of them claim to have done work for Orlock. None of them told me what exactly they did for him, but it wasn't hard to read between the lines."
"You think they acquired items for his collection," I said.
"And if he's a collector then he might be able to identify the bone flute for us," Devona added.
David nodded. "But like I said it's only a suspicion. My ravens have captured video of some questionable characters going into Orlock's shop, but that doesn't prove anything."
"Maybe not," I said, "but it's a lead and it's more than we had when we came in here. Thanks, David."
"You're welcome. Let me know what you learn about Orlock. I might be able to use the information for one of my clients. In the meantime I'll start searching through my ravens' recent footage and see if I can't find any video of the attack on you. If I do, I'll give you a call."
I gave David the number of Shrike's vox, then we thanked him again and said our goodbyes. He offered to see us to the door but I told him to go ahead and get started reviewing the video. We'd show ourselves out.
As Devona and I stepped onto the front porch she said, "You know, those ravens of David's could have all kinds of security applications. You think he might be interested in doing some work for us on the side?"
"You mean for you," I said.
Devona frowned. "I don't understand."
We continued talking as we walked down the porch steps and headed across the mist enshrouded grounds toward the gate.
"The Midnight Watch is your business. I just help out from time to time."
Devona didn't respond right away, and I knew I'd said something wrong, though I wasn't exactly sure what.
"I thought it was our business, Matt. Something we did together."
Aw, crap, I thought. Out loud, I said, "Look, I didn't mean-"
She cut me off. "I understand that you're used to working alone… living alone, being alone. You lived like that for years after you became a zombie and probably for more years before that. But you're not alone anymore. I don't understand why it's so hard for you to get that."
Right then being alone sounded pretty good. When you're alone you don't have to deal with other people's expectations and feelings and you don't have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing and hurting them. Being alone means freedom and no hassles. There's only one problem with it: it's damn lonely.
As we passed through the gate and onto the sidewalk, leaving the House of Mysterious Secrets behind, I struggled to come up with some kind of reply that might salve Devona's hurt feelings. But my poor zombie brain was coming up empty, so instead I started looking around for a cab. It would take about twenty minutes to walk to Nosferatomes from where we were, but given my current fugitive status I figured the less I was seen in public the better. Our disguises had worked well enough so far but I didn't want to push it. The traffic was relatively light just then and there were no cabs for hire around. No real surprise there, since cabbies tend to frequent Sybarite Street, where the best clubs and restaurants in the Sprawl are located. Still, I'd hoped there might be at least one cab around, maybe even Lazlo, roaring up to the curb in his ramshackle machine, as he so often does when I need a ride. Riding with him would be a calculated risk, since I'm known to do it so often, but at that point I figured it would be one worth taking. But there was no sign of the demon.
I remembered what Quillion had told me about a Sentinel "interviewing" Lazlo and I hoped he was simply busy driving another fare around town. I knew from first hand experience that Sentinels weren't exactly the most gentle of creatures and I feared my friend might be laid up somewhere, metaphorically – or who knows, maybe literally – licking his wounds as he recovered from the Sentinel's little chat with him.
I turned to Devona. "Looks like we're going to have to hoof it."
Her frown deepened into a scowl and I thought she wasn't going to let me get away with trying to change the subject, but then she looked past me and her eyes widened and I knew our discussion was about to be tabled.
I turned around and saw a man striding purposefully down the sidewalk toward us. He wore a long black trench coat open to reveal a chiseled bare chest and well defined abs. Black jeans and worn cowboy boots completed his outfit. He was a handsome black man with mahogany skin, a shaved head and piercing, almost startling green eyes. He appeared to be unarmed but I didn't need to frisk him to know he wasn't carrying any weapons. You don't need to when you are a weapon.
The first of the bounty hunters had found us.
TWELVE
The man stopped when he was within half a dozen feet of us and smiled.
"Hey, Matt. What's up? Nice coat. Good to see you finally got a little style going on."
His voice was deep and rich and though his tone was relaxed on the surface it held an underlying current of tension. I knew exactly how he felt.
"Hey yourself, Malik," I said, ignoring his comment about Bogdan's hand-me-down. "It's been a while."
"Since we tangled with the Incarnator, remember?"
"How could I forget? We had a hell of a time figuring out which body he was inhabiting. If he hadn't kept that habit of his regardless of which body he wore-"
Malik laughed. "Right! He always kept sniffing and swallowing, like he had sinus trouble no matter who he was possessing. How weird was that?"
"Weird but useful," I said. "We might never have caught him otherwise."
We'd kept our gazes locked on one another as we talked, only pretending to enjoy our little trip down memory lane. In truth we were gauging each other – opening feints that were merely a warm up for what was to come.
"Matt, who is this?" Devona asked.
I hadn't forgotten about her, but there was no way I was going to take my eyes off Malik. I continued to keep my gaze trained on him as I answered.
"This gentleman goes by the street name of Crossbreed but his friends just call him Malik. We've worked together a couple times when we had jobs that ended up overlapping. As you might've gathered we took down the Incarnator together."