THE FIRST THING I DID WHEN I GOT HOME WAS GRAB THE living room phone to call Gwen. There was a stutter tone indicating a voice mail, but I ignored it, punching in her number. I’d check for messages later.
The phone rang a couple of times before her husband answered.
“Nick, hi. It’s Vicky. Can I talk to my sister?”
“Sorry, Vicky, she’s on her way into town. I just walked in the door from dropping her and the kids off at the train station.”
Damn. If that jerk Lucado had let me use his phone, I would’ve caught her.
“Okay. Thanks, anyway.”
“Hey, maybe I’ll see you this afternoon. I’ve got a squash date with a client at the Racquet Club. Give him a good game, then let him win.” He chuckled. “But I’m meeting Gwen at Quincy Market afterward; should be there around one fifteen. So hang around a bit and say hi—if the kids don’t drive you crazy first.”
“But then you’re going home, right? No trips to the aquarium? No parade?”
His tone indicated he thought it was a strange question. “We’ve got to catch the 3:10 train out of South Station. Gwen and I are going out for dinner—business stuff—and the kids have a Halloween party. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, it’s just—you know how crazy Boston gets on Halloween nowadays. Swarming with tourists and partiers. Nutso. It’s no fun when it’s that crowded.”
We exchanged a few more pleasantries, then hung up. I slumped back on the sofa. Gwen and the kids were on their way into Boston, and there was nothing I could do about it. Maybe it would be okay. I reminded myself that Difethwr couldn’t make a move during daylight. But I had a bad feeling I couldn’t shake. It worried me to have the whole family together, the entire Cerddorion population of Massachusetts, on the day the Destroyer was promising an end to Victory.
Still, it was daytime now. We had hours and hours before we had to worry about Difethwr. So I’d meet Gwen for lunch, act all happy and normal—and then personally escort the whole family to South Station and make sure they got on that train.
ON VOICE MAIL THERE WERE THREE MESSAGES FOR JULIET, including last night’s dinner offering a second helping. His voice had the slow, dreamy tone of an over-the-moon vampire high.
The fourth message was from Daniel. Hearing his voice gave me a gut-level jolt, hot and cold at the same time. I couldn’t help seeing those smiling blue eyes, and I couldn’t help hearing that cop saying “your wife.” Daniel had news from Roxana. When she’d called another meeting of the Witches of the Shield, one person hadn’t shown up. The missing witch, Clarinda Fowler, was a paralegal who worked in Government Center. She hadn’t come back from lunch yesterday, and no one knew where she was.
“We don’t know for sure that she’s the one who leaked the information about the shield,” he said, “but right now it looks that way.”
His message was short and businesslike, and I felt somehow shortchanged when he hung up. But businesslike was what I wanted, right? If I had to interact with Daniel Costello at all, let us both be brisk and professional. There was no other way.
I sighed, then listened to the next message.
“Um, hi, Vicky. It’s Tina.”
Tina! That thieving zombie. I sat up straight and gripped the phone.
“I, uh, know you’re probably kinda mad at me right now . . .”
Kinda. That girl would be lucky if I simmered down to kinda.
“But I didn’t steal your sword. Honest. I wasn’t gonna keep it. I just wanted to show it to Jenna. It’s, like, the coolest thing ever. I wanted to show her my moves.”
See, that was the problem with starting weapons training too early. Tina didn’t have any moves. But because I’d let her spar with me, she thought she did. What is it they say about a little learning—it’s a dangerous thing?
Tina went on: “I was gonna bring it back tonight, but then me and Jenna had this really cool idea for our Halloween costumes—I mean, like, really cool—and I need it for mine. So, uh, I’ll bring it back tomorrow night. I promise.” She blew out a loud breath, then spoke really fast: “I hope you’re not mad at me. Bye.”
End of message.
I couldn’t believe it. Using Saint Michael’s sword for her Halloween costume. Sacrilege—that’s what it was. Not to mention the end of the entire city of Boston if I didn’t get the sword back before sunset.
I jumped up from the sofa. It was eight thirty. Tina would be tucked into her bed now, like all good little zombies. I was going to go over to her group home, and I was going to take back my sword. And while I was there, I’d confiscate Russom’s, too. If Tina couldn’t figure out the difference between the archangel’s sword and a toy, there was no way she’d ever become a demon fighter. No way.
“NO, DEAR. TINA’S NOT HERE. SHE NEVER CAME HOME AT all this morning. I’m quite worried.”
Tina’s house mother sat behind a reception desk, looking like the zombie version of Mrs. Butterworth: plump face, gray hair pulled back in a bun, little half-moon glasses that she peered over when she spoke. Her looks made a weird combination with her spongy, pitted zombie complexion and bloodred eyes. She fluttered with anxiety about her missing charge.
“She’s okay,” I said. “She called me just before eight this morning.” Tricky timing—she must’ve figured that Juliet would be asleep and I wouldn’t be back from my job yet. Her best chance for getting voice mail instead of speaking to someone.
“Oh, I’m so glad! Such a relief. Where is she?”
“She didn’t say.”
Mrs. Butterworth shook her head, smiling. “That Tina certainly is a pistol, isn’t she?”
“She’s something, all right.”
I thought of asking if I could search Tina’s room, but I doubted Mrs. Butterworth would let me. Besides, there was no point. Tina hadn’t been back here since she left yesterday afternoon. The sword would be wherever she was.
Maybe the house mother would have a clue about that. “Do you know where Tina likes to hang out?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The usual teen places, I suppose. I just supervise the house.”
Teen hangouts—in Deadtown? There was no such thing. Only a handful of teenagers and children had been caught in the plague zone. Like Tina and her friend. I had no idea where they went, besides school.
Maybe her friend could help. “Can I talk to Jenna?”
Mrs. Butterworth smiled. “That Jenna. She and Tina are like this.” She held up two twined fingers. “It’s so nice for the young ones when they have a friend. But Jenna’s not here, dear. She didn’t come home, either. Wherever one of those girls is, you’ll find the other as well.”
I TRUDGED AROUND DEADTOWN FOR A WHILE, TRYING TO think where Tina could be. I was alone on the empty streets. The werewolves were on retreat. Vampires couldn’t come out into the daylight, and most zombies didn’t dare. Stores were closed, everything was shuttered and silent. Deadtown was shut down for the day and, true to its name, wouldn’t come back to life until after sunset.
Craning my neck, I scanned the tall buildings that housed Boston’s paranormal population. Blackout shades blocked every window. Tina could be behind any one of them, but I’d never find her. Trying to locate a zombie here would be like groping, blindfolded, to find one particular grain of sand on a mile-long beach.
Hopeless, I wandered the streets until it was time to go meet Gwen.
QUINCY MARKET, NEAR BOSTON’S WATERFRONT, HAS BEEN a marketplace for nearly two hundred years. The Colonnade is the food hall, a central building made of granite, two stories tall and more than five hundred feet long. Visitors walk up a few steps and past massive granite columns to get inside, where they can stroll down the long central aisle and buy food ranging from sushi to cannoli to New England clam chowder, from kebabs to enchiladas to ice cream. On either side of the Colonnade are two other long, rectangular buildings, less grand, called North Market and South Market. These hold restaurants, clothing shops, jewelry and housewares stores, and carts where tourists can buy all kinds of souvenirs.